A^DV^AKTCE    SHEETS. 


ETOWAH. 


A  Romance  of  the  Confederacy, 


By  FRANCIS  FONTAINE. 


"  Isit  possible  that  I  see  once  r 
I  do  not  for'    "■         ■  ^      H  see^- 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2009  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


o 


http://www.archive.org/details/etowahromanceofcOOOfont 


A.ID'V^AISTCE    SHEETS. 


ETOWAH 


A  Romance  of  the  Confederacy, 


By  FRANCIS  FONTAINE. 


"  Is  it  possible  that  I  see  ODce  r 
I  do  not  for'    "^         •  ^      it  see*"^ 


DEDICATION. 


To  the  disabled  Confederate  veterans,  this  book  is  respect- 
fully dedicated  by  a  fellow-soldier,  with  the  hope  that  it 
may  be  the  means  of  inaugurating  a  practical  sympathy  for 
them  commensurate  with  their  necessities. 

You  conlronted  nearly  three  millions  of  enlisted  men, 
•during  four  years  of  the  bloodiest  war  on  record,  with  a 
patriotism  and  heroism  unsurpassed  in  history.  Of  these 
3,000,000  men,  enlisted  in  the  armies  of  the  United  Staises, 
303,843  were  killed  during  the  war,  and  the  average  of  killed 
and  wounded  in  battle,  on  one  side  or  the  other,  frequently 
exceeded  thirty  per  cent,  of  the  forces  engaged. 

Neither  Waterloo  nor  Wagram,  nor  Lodi,  nor  any  of  the 
great  battles  fought  by  Napoleon,  show  as  great  percentage 
of  losses  as  the  battles  of  the  Wilderness  and  Spottsylvania, 
ChicamMUga  and  Atlanta,  Gettysburg  or  Shiloh. 

At  Gettysburg,  Pennsylvania,  54,000  men  fell ;  at  Chica- 
mauga,  Georgia,  33,000  men  were  killed  and  wounded. 
Malice  can  find  no  lasting  place  in  a  hero's  heart,  and  these 
figures  are  presented,  not  to  revive  bitter  memories  of  the 
past,  but  that  the  reader  may  appreciate  the  enormous  num- 
ber of  helpless,  aged,  and  cripple  veterans  throughout  the 
Southern  States.  While  twelve  millions  of  dollars  a  month 
are  paid  as  pensions  to  the  Federal  soldiers,  whether  wounded 
or  not,  no  government  pensions  these  Southern  soldiers,  and 
no  public  charities  have  been  organized  for  their  benefit. 

LET     veteran's     HOMES    BE     BUILT     FOR     THOSE      THAT     ARE 

HELPLESS. 

Philanthropy  had  never  a  nobler  field  of  labor,  and  a 
patriot's  gratitude  cannot  find  more  worthy  recipients  than 
these  maimed  heroes  who  yielded  all  in  defence  of  their 
country. 

We  of  the  South,  owe  it  to  them  as  a  sacred  duty,  and  the 


587631 


great  heait  of  the  American  people  will  esteem  it  a  debt 
worthily  bestowed. 

"  The  soldier's  spirit  greets  the  soldier's  call, 
There  is  no  hate  between  the  brave  and  brave, 
And  he  whose  hand  in  battle  labored  first, 
When  darkness  falls  will  labor  first  to  save." 

As  a  slight  contribution  to  building  a  Veteran's  Home  in 
the  city  of  Atlanta,  Georgia,  one-half  of  the  proceeds  of  this 
book  will  be  applied  to  that  purpose. 


o 


Southern  l^ampl^l^.tl 


PREFACE. 


Scene. — A  Book-store  in  Neio  York   City. 

VisiTOU— "Have  you  any  book  treating  of  the  negro  as  a 
slave  and  as  a  freedman  and  citizen  ?  Any  book  that  describes 
the  domestic  life  of  the  Southern  people  under  the  regime 
of  slavery  ?" 

Bookseller— '-Oh,  yes,  'Uncle  Tom's  Cabin'  is  very 
popular." 

Visitor— "I  know  that,  and  deservedly  so.  I  have  seen 
-that  book  all  over  Europe,  translated  into  half  a  dozen  lan- 
guages. But  that  treats  of  slavery  as  it  was  thought  to  be 
by  the  Abolitionists  before  the  late  war  between  the  States ; 
it  describes  the  horrors,  but  not  the  brighter  phases  ctf 
slavery." 

Bookseller— "We  have  'The  Impending  Crisis,'  by 
Helper.  It  was  recommended  for  circulation  by  sixty-eight 
members  of  Congress,  and  also  by  the  Secretary  of  State, 
when  it  was  published." 

Visitor— "That  is  not  what  I  want,  either.  Like  'Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin,'  it  pandered  to  the  prejudices  oi  the  Abolition- 
ists and  advocated  the  confiscation  of  slave  property  without 
compensation  to  the  owners.  It  used  the  following  lan- 
guage, which  shows  the  animus  of  the  book  : 

'Frown,  sirs;  fret,  foam,  prepare  your  weapons,  threaten, 
strike,  shoot,  stab,  bring  on  civil  war ;  dissolve  the  Union. 
You  can  neither  foil  nor  intimidate  us;  we  have  determined 
to  abolish  slavery,  and,  so  help  us  God,  abolish  it  we  will ! 
Compensation  to  slave-owners  for  negroes!  Preposterous 
idea;  the  suggestion  is  criminal,  the  demand  unjust,  wicked, 
damnable,  monstrous.  Shall  we  fee  the  curs  of  slavery  to 
make  them  rich  at  our  expense?' 

Such  is  the  lanjjuage  used.     That  is  not  what  I  want." 

Bookseller— "Then  what  do  you  want  ?  Ah  !  I  have  it, 
'The  Fool's  Errand'  will  suit  you." 


Visitor — "No;  I  ha^^e  read  that,  too.  Tuat  is  worse  than 
the  others,  because  it  is  written  by  a  'carpet-bagger'  who  set- 
tled in  the  South  after  the  war  to  make  all  he  could  for 
himself  out  of  the  woes  of  an  impoverished  and  disheartened 
people.  What  I  want  to  find  is  a  book  which  will  show  the 
South  as  it  was  and  is  -  the  domestic  life  and  customs  of  the 
people,  both  white  and  black,  both  slave  and  free — a  book 
written  to  give  the  true  history  of  that  remarkable  struggle^ 
which  so  puzzled  foreigners,  without  pandering  to  Northern 
or  Southern  prejudices." 

Bookseller — "There  is  no  such  book  printed,  and,  in  my 
judgment,  there  will  never  be.  You  may  as  well  give  up 
the  search." 

Visitor  (sottovoce) — "We  will  see.  Such  a  book  is  needed, 
and  I  will  write  it." 

And  thus  this  unpretentious  book  has  been  written  that 
the  reader  may  appreciate  the  motives  which  actuated  the 
Southern  States  in  seceding  fi'om  the  Union. 

In  the  light  of  experience,  sufficient  time  has  already 
passed  to  justify  the  assertion  that  the  great  Republic  has 
been  purified  in  the  fiery  crucible  of  war. 

It  is  also  evident  that  the  Southern  States,  in  the  next 
half  century,  will  have  advaned  far  more  in  all  the  arts, 
sciences,  and  appliances  of  civilization  without  slavery  than 
with  it.  But  one  can  read  all  the  histories  from  Northern 
sources  that  have  been  written,  and  in  none  of  them  will  be 
found  the  unprejudiced,  truthful  description  of  the  motives, 
sacrifices,  triumphs  and  losses  of  the  Southern  people  during 
the  four  years  of  war  between  the  States.  To  give  a  faithful 
picture  of  life  as  it  was  under  the  regime  of  slavery,  "with 
malice  to  none  and  charity  for  all,"  the  author  submits  this 
simple  story  to  the  public. 


From  CHAPTER  II. 

Later  Colonel  Leslie  and  his  son,  Hugh,  arrived  just  as 
he  cannon  sounded  the  signal  for  illuminating  the  city. 

In  an  instant  the  houses  gleamed  with  lights,  the  streets 
and  squares  became  brilliant  with  bonfires  and  fire-works, 
which  recalled  to  the  returned  tourists  the  famous  Champs 
Elysees  in  Paris.  flBHIBI 

Pedestrians  thronged  the  street,  and  young  men  flung 
their  Zouave  caps,  or  hats  adorned  with  cockades,  high  in 
the  air. 

Had  it  been  in  Paris,  this  day  of  hilarious  revolution  would 
have  been  ushered  in  with  bloodshed,  and  hired  claqueurs 
would  have  mounted  the  walls,  and  statues,  and  trees,  and 
led  the  populace  in  wild  cries  of  ^^Vive  V  Empereur  f^ 

But  in  this  distant  Southern  State  there  was  no  monarch 
to  welcome  to  power,  no  ruler  to  overthrow,  and  no  person- 
al animosities  to  gratify. 

It  seem-ed  absolutely  unanimous ;  the  old  and  the  young, 
the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  high  and  the  humble,  the  slave 
and  the  free,  alljoinerd  in  the  carnival  of  enthusiasm. 

The  little  group  had  ascended  to  the  top  of  the  mansion, 
one  of  the  largest  and  finest  in  the  city,  and  had  a  fine  view 
of  the  whole  town. 

"Oh,  how  beautiful  it  is !"  said  Clara  Leslie,  full  of  the 
enthusiasm  of  a  girl  of  sixteen  years.  "Indeed,  it  is  prettier 
than  the  illumination  during  the  fetes  in  Paris.'''' 

"Is  it  really  ?"  said  Julia.  "Oh !  how  I  do  long  to  visit 
foreign  lands." 

"Why,  Miss  Julia,"  said  Latane,  you  boasted  this  after- 
noon that  you  had  visited  a  foreign  land." 

"And  so  we  did  w^hen  we  crossed  the  river;  but  that  is 
not  like  EUirope,  and,  above  all,  it  is  not  like  Paris." 

"C'est  bien  vrai,  ne  c'est  pas,  ma  bien  aimee  ?"  said  Hugh 
Leslie,  as  he  looked  down  into  the  eyes  of  Nathalie  Blanc,  a 
lovely  daughter  of  one  of  the  oldest  Creole  families  in  New 
Orleans. 

"Oui,  Monsieur,  decidement,"  she  answered. 


'^What  are  you  two  talking  about  ?"  said  Julia  Bearing, 
who  had  just  heard  enough  to  know  that  they  were  speak- 
ing French. 

''I  said  that  Paris  was  the  pupil  of  the  eye  of  the  world," 
said  Hugh,  not  wishing  to  reveal  w^hathe  had  said. 

"And  I  that  it  was  second  only  to  New  Orleans.  I  am 
alw^ays  loyal  to  m}^   home,"  responded  Miss  Blanc. 

"That  reminds  me  w^hat  it  is  that  makes  this  scene  so 
brilliant  and  so  attractive  to  me :  it  is  because  it  beautifies 
our  own  homes.  How  glad  I  shall  be  to  see  my  old  home 
again,"  said  Clara. 

''  Home,  home  !  sweet,  sweet  home ! 

"The  dearest  spot  on  earth  to  me  is  home,"  said  Henry 
Latane,  humming  the  air. 

"Oh !  do  let  us  sing  it !"  said  Julia,  and  in  a  moment  those 
clear  young  voices  sang  the  familiar  air  wdth  a  zest  that  was 
so  charming  that  Colonel  Leslie  and  Judge  Bearing  paused 
to  listen  until  it  was  finished  before  ascending  the  last  flight 
of  stairs  to  the  top  of  the  house.  This  house,  b}^  the  way, 
w^as  a  typical  Southern  home.  The  front  was  ornamented 
by  lofty  Ionic  columns  that  reached  to  the  roof,  and  a  broad 
piazza  ran  the  length  of  the  mansion.  It  contained  four- 
teen large  rooms  wdth  wide  halls  on  every  floor,  but  the 
promenade  on  top  of  the  house  was  the  most  unique  and,  in 
summer,  the  most  delightful  feature.  It  was  finished 
throughout  in  hard  w^oods,  and  the  whole  low^er  floor  could 
be  converted  into  a  ball-room  b}^  throwing  back  the  massive 
mahogany  sliding-doors. 

Hardly  had  they  ceased  singing  when  a  band  of  students 
appeared  in  the  square  below,  and  halted  on  the  la-wn  which 
led  from  the  residence  of  Judge  Bearing  to  the  river. 

Then  Clara  Leslie  and  Nathalie  Blanc  heard  for  the  first 
time  the  stirring  strains  of  the  Southern  Marseillaise,  and  ere 
thpy  knew  it  they  had  caught  the  refrain  and  were  joining 
in  the  chorus : 

"In  Dixie's  land  I'll  take  my  stand 
And  live  and  die  in  Dixie." 

And  so  did  the  little  urchins  in  the  streets,  and  so  did  the 
crowd   which  made  a  motley  assemblage,    until  the  whole 


r\n»^ 


square  resounded  with  the  martial  air,  and  ihe  enthusiasm 
became  unbounded. 

Colonel  Leslie  turned  and  grasped  the  hand  of  the  venera- 
ble Judge,  and  said : 

"I  feel  as  if  I,  too,  could  throw  my  hat  in  the  air." 

Henry  Latane,   noticing  this,  said  : 

"Hugh,  do   you  intend  to  enter  the  Military  Institute 


again  ? 


I  don't  know.  Father  and  I  were  talking  of  it  as  we 
drove  into  town  this  evening.  1  think  I  will  go  into  the 
army  immediately.  By  the  way,  what  has  become  of  Bar- 
num  ?" 

''He  is  captain  of  company  'C,'  of  the  Cadet  Corps.  Do 
you  remember  him  ?" 

"Very  well,  and  ver}^  favorably — a  better  fellow  I  never 
knew.  But,  if  my  memory  is  not  at  fault,  he  is  from  the 
State  of  New  York  ?" 

"You  are  correct,  and  I  agree  with  you  in  your  good  opin- 
ion of  him." 

"How  does  he  take  this  sort  of  thing?"  said  Hugh,  wav- 
ing his  hand  toward  the  enthusiastic  groups  in  the  square 
and  in  the  streets  below  them. 


FROM  CHAPTER  III— THE  TOURNAMENT. 

The  stand  at  the  race-course  was  thronged  Avith  lovely 
women  and  rnanh^  men.  The  afternoon  was  delightful,  the 
warm  atmosphere  being  tempered  by  the  soft  spring  breezes 
that  caressed  the  cheeks  of  maidens,  whose  color  rivalled 
that  of  the  rose.  The  bright  blue  skies  were  relieved  by 
alpine-like  cumulus  clouds  which,  if  they  did  not  seem  to 
have  motion,  would  be  perfect  re-productions  of  the  snow- 
clad  peaks  amid  the  Alps.  The  last  race  is  finished,  and  at 
her  waist  hanss  the  trophy  won  by  Nathalie  Blanc  from 
Hugh  Leslie.  A  handkerchief,  on  which  was  embroidered  an 
ideal  flag  of  the  new  nation,  designed  and  executed  by  Julia 
Dearing,  with  only  three  stars  as  yet,  though  space  was  left 
for  a  dozen  more,  was  in  the  happy  possession  of  Bruton 
Stewart  as  an  evidence  of  his  success  in  betting  on  Latane's 
blooded  mare  against  his  own  thoroughbred  which  Julia 
had  championed.  And  a  close  observer  might  have  seen  the 
shy,  sweet  glance  that  Clara  Leslie  gave  to  Latane,  as  he  re- 
ceived from  Julia's  hand  the  little  curl  which  she  clipped 
from  the  wealth  of  hair — golden  and  luxuriant  tresses  that 
well  could  spare  it — and  which  indicated  that  he  had  won 
the  rarest  prize  of  all.  At  least  Latan6  so  considered  it,  for 
he  said : 

"I  shall  have  a  locket  made  which  shall  be  the  shrine  for 
this—" 

"Love-lock,"  interrupted  Julia,  with  a  mischievous  smile. 

"No,  %ve-lock'  is  purely  a  masculine  appendage,"  said 
Stewart.  "It  was  worn  by  men  of  fashion  in  the  reign  ot 
Queen  Elizabeth — worn  on  the  forehead,  not  on  the  heart. 
Look  you !  Latane,  let  us  guard  our  rights  as  men,  and 
rigidly  taboo  the  wearing  of  'love-locks'  by  the  fair,  sweet 
sex." 

The  bugles  sounded  for  the  "knights"  to  assemble  for  the 
Tourney  as  this  speech  was  made,  and  Hugh  Leslie,  Latane 
and  Stewart,  with  a  dozen  other  young  gentlemen  from 
various  parts  of  the  grand  stand,  bade  a  hasty  adieu  to  their 
young  lady  friends,  and  descended  to  enter  the  lists. 


A  dozen  young  ladies  might  have  been  seen  then  to  pin  a 
ribbon,  each  of  a  different  color,  and  each  contrasting  well 
with  the  dress  selected  for  this  occasion,  so  that,  when  she 
arose,  her  "knight"  might  see  the  emblem  which  was  to  cheer 
him  to  victory.  And  now,  below  them,  "pools"  are  being  sold 
for  the  final  race  which  is  to  succeed  the  tournament ;  for  all 
the  elite  of  the  county  is  there,  and  no  county  in  America, 
perhaps,  thus  distant  from  a  large  city,  could  boast  of  horses 
more  famed  for  pedigree  and  swiftness  than  that  of  Etowah. 

Each  "knight"  was  required  by  the  club  rules  to  ride  his 
own  horse,  and  that  the  horse  should  be  of  a  well-known 
pedigree.  It  was  thus  that  they  kept  out  of  the  lists,  with- 
out giving  offense,  men  who  might  be  accomplished  riders 
but  were  not  of  their  "set."  Thus  in  the  middle  ages  the 
title  of  "knight"  or  "cavalier"  was  limited  to  persons  of 
noble  birth.  A  light  mask  was  worn  by  each  knight,  and 
an  imitation  of  the  armor  worn  by  the  knights  of  old  was 
usually  worn  so  as  to  complete  the  disguise  and  render  the 
spectacle  more  attractive.  By  their  colors  they  were  known 
by  the  wearers  of  the  ribbons.  The  silver  tones  of  a  cornet 
announced  their  egress  from  the  round-house,  or  place  of 
assemblage,  and  the  prancing  steeds  seemed  eager  for  a 
race  around  the  course  rather  than  a  tilt  at  the  rings.  It 
was  indeed  a  pleasing  spectacle  as  they  rode  forth  and  passed 
the  grand  stand,  each  "knight"  doffing  his  plumed  hat  as 
he  passed  the  lady  who  wore  his  colors. 

Stewart  was  recognized  by  his  great  stature  and  herculean 
strength,  and  the  applause  of  the  multitude  greeted  him  as 
he  rode  forth.  But  his  eyes  were  cast  to  where  Julia  Bear- 
ing sat,  and  he  waved  the  handkerchief  toward  her  as  he 
saw  her  pin  the  ribbon  to  her  dress. 

"By  George!  Stewart,"  said  Latane,  "I  believe  you  have 
won  the  fight  already !" 

"Not  so.  Latane ;  I  received  my  'walking  papers'  this  morn- 
ing, but  I  am  going  to  win  this  contest,  crown  her  as  queen 
of  beauty,  and  shake  the  dust  of  this  State  from  my  feet." 
There  was  no  time  for  further  conversation ;  the  bugles 
sounded  the  charge,  and  away,  one  after  another,  the  knights, 
each  with  lance  well  poised,  dashed  for  the  twenty  consecu- 
tive rings. 

Eighteen  rings  were  on  the  lance  held  proudly  aloft  by 


Stewart,  as  he  approached  the  beginning  point,  and  cries  of 
"Hurrah  for  the  Halbardier  !"  resounded. 

He  was  dressed  like  an  ancient  Halbardier,  and  his  lance 
w  as  very  like  the  halbard,  an  ancient  military  weapon,  con- 
sisting of  a  pole  or  shaft  o^  wood,  having  a  head  armed  with 
a 'steel  point,  with  a  cross-piece  of  steel. 

He  had  won  the  choice  of  position  and  being  in  the  lead, 
had  taken  all  the  rings  but  two,  which  were  taken  by  the 
third  man  on  the  list,  a  ''knight"  who  bore  the  nan'^e  "Un- 
known." Had  not  betting  on  the  results  of  the  tourna- 
ment been  prohibited  by  the  rules  of  the  club,  a  large 
amount  would  have  been  placed  on  the  success  of  Stewart, 
now  the  general  favorite,  and  well  did  Julia  assume  the  role 
alloted  to  her,  though  in  her  heart  she  regrettf^d  tliat  she 
would  probably  have  to  be  publicly  congratulated  on  being 
crowned  as  "queen  of  love  and  beauty"  by  the  gentleman 
whom  she  had  rejected  as  a  suitor  that  day. 

"Etowah  Heights,"  his  ancestral  home,  was  the  finest  es- 
tate in  the  county,  and  Stewart  was,  in  all  respects,  worthy 
her  favorable  consideration. 

Her  vanity  was  flattered  by  his  persistent  decision  to  ap- 
pear to  be  her  devoted  admirer  until  he  left  with  his  troop 
for  "the  front,"  as  the  seat  of  probable  war  was  alread}^ 
styled  in  Virginia. 

The  fourth  knight  chose  as  his  device  "The  Talisman ;" 
and  none  felt  its  significance  more  deeply  than  the  young 
girl  whose  tiny  lock  of  hair  had  in  two  hours  caused  him  to 
change  his  costume  and  title  that  he  might  adapt  himself  to 
the  incident. 

"Count  Robert,  of  Paris,"  "Invanhoe,"  and  other  famous 
knights  of  the  middle  ages,  were  the  prototypes  selected  by 
the  various  competitors.  The  knight  who  bore  on  his  crest 
the  word  "Unknown"  was  Hugh  Leslie,  who  was  thouglit 
to  be  still  abroad,  except  by  a  few  intimate  friends,  for  in 
those  days  the  arrival  or  departure  of  prominent  people  was 
not  chronicled  in  the  daih^  gazette ;  their  names  paraded 
side  by  side  with  that  ot  the  family  baker  or  milliner 
anxious  to  chronicle  their  departure  for  "the  springs."  Nor 
were  the  minute  descriptions  of  the  dresses  of  the  belles  at 
parties  considered  proper  subjects  for  newspaper  criticism. 
They  were  trained  in  a  different   social  school,   and   were 


averse  to  "staleing  their  presence  before  the  vulgar  hercl.'^ 
The  members  of  the  club  which  supported  the  race-course 
and  tournament  festivals  retained  tor  their  families  the 
privilege  accorded  to  the  ancient  ( avaliers,  that  of  occupy- 
ing during  the  races  orpuhlic  sports  the  first  fourteen  tiers 
or  rows  of  seats.  The  cavaliers  of  the  middle  ages  alotie 
possessed  the  right  to  carry  a  banner,  and  to  appear  in  the 
tourneys  and  contest  for  the  prize  ;  to  wear  gilded  armor  and 
a  collar  of  gold  ;  to  place  a  vane  upon  their  manor  houses ; 
to  have  a  particular  seal  upon  their  coat-of-arms ;  to  take  the 
title  of  monseigneiir,  and  their  wives  of  madame.  In  ex- 
change for  these  prerosativt  s,  they  swore  to  combat  injustice 
everywhere,  to  be  the  defenders  of  the  orphan  and  the  widow, 
and  to  obey  without  reserve  the  orders  of  their  lady  or  of 
their  king.  Thus  the  elorinus  history  of  this  institution 
during  the  crui^ades  in  the  Holy  Land  ;  thus  the  most  ame- 
liorating conditions  of  feudal  times;  thus  the  order  ot  the 
Good  Templars,  the  Legion  of  Honor,  the  Hospitallers,  and 
the  "Sir  Knights,"  which  distingush  the  members  of  the 
brotherhood  of  to-day  which  have  the  same  objects  in  view. 
Originated  at  a  time  when  the  strong  hand  was  the  only 
law,  brave  men  took  upon  themselves  the  task  of  protecting 
the  weak  and  redressing  the  wrongs  of  the  injured.  Women, 
being  the  weakest  and  most  apt  to  suffer  wrong,  were  first 
protected,  and  thus  courtesy  and  refinement  were  blended 
with  courage,  and  to  be  a  knight  was  to  be  the  champion  ot 
the  oppressed.  But  chivalry  had  nothing  to  do  with  any 
but  those  of  gentle  birth,  and  the  dogma  that  "all  men 
are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  created  iree  and  equal,"  had  not 
been  proclaimed.  A  knight  would  protect  h's  vassals  as  he 
would  his  horse,  but  he  did  not  appreciate  that  the  common 
people  had  any  rights  if  opposed  to  his  will. 

War  was  his  profession ;  trade  he  could  not  indulge  in 
without  forfeiture  of  his  social  position  and  his  feudal  rights. 
The  chase,  tournaments,  and  other  sports,  which  developed 
manly  strength  and  courteous  courage,  were  his  amuse- 
ments. Tournaments  were  held  under  the  auspicf  s  ofthe 
King  or  a  great  noble,  and  were  attended  by  ladies  who 
bestowed  the  prizes  won  by  the  successful  combatants. 
Again  the  bugles  Found  and  away  the  cont^stants  go,  the 
'Halbardier'  now  in  the  rear,  and  Hugh  Leslie  in  front,  and  as 


they  approach  the  stand  it  is  seen  that  seventeen  rings  grace 
his  lance,  and  the  '  Unknown '  is  cheered  vociferously. 
Nathalie  Blanc  has  arisen  from  her  seat  and  claps  her 
hands  as  she  sees  her  knight  take  ring  after  ring,  but  her 
])leasure  is  moderated  when  she  learns  that  he  lacks  one  ring 
of  being  equal  to  Stewart.  "Oh !  Julia,  I  fear  you  have 
won !"  she  said. 

Again  the  bugles  sound,  and  with  a  grace  that  is  marked 
by  all,  Latane  leads.  A  shout  that  makes  the  stand  tremble 
arises,  as  the  graceful  youth  holds  his  lance  aloft  and  it  is 
seen  that  he  has  taken  every  ring ! 

One  after  one,  they  all  es^ay  again  until  the  time  for  the 
final  effort  of  the  young  giant,  Stewart,  arrives.  For  the 
second  time  he  advances,  and  after  him  comes  no  other. 
Thirty-eight  rings  stand  to  the  credit  of  Latane,  for  only 
two  were  taken  by  his  predecessors  in  the  last  run,  and  he 
secured  all  the  rest. 

The  tilt  is  between  Latane  and  Stewart.  In  his  excite- 
ment Stewart  has  let  fall  his  mask,  and  few  are  as  popular 
as  he  in  the  county.  People  rise  on  their  feet,  heads  are 
bent  forward  and  eyes  are  strained  to  see  the  champion 
make  his  final  tnrust.  In  unison  with  the  crowd  around 
them,  our  young  friends  also  arose,  and  when  it  is  seen  that 
the  most  fearless  equestrienne  and  the  handsomest  girl  in 
the  county.  Miss  Julia  Bearing,  wears  his  colors,  the  excite- 
ment increases  and  murmurs  of  admiration  are  heard. 

"What  a  handsome  couple  they  will  make!"  is  the  re- 
mark. 

Bruton  Stewart,  a  proud  smile  upon  his  lips,  rides  for- 
ward, stops  for  a  moment  just  below  the  group  in  which 
Miss  Dearing  is  the  central  figure,  lifts  his  hat  and  bows 
with  that  grace  for  which  West  Point  graduates  have  be- 
come famous.  With  irresistible  impulse  Julia  Dearing 
unpins  the  ribbon  and  waves  it  to  him. 

In  a  moment  he  is  off,  and  voices  cry  "one!"  "two!!'' 
""three! ! !"  and  so  on,  until  the  fifteenth  ring  is  reached,  as 
the  people  GO«nt  as  he  secures  each  ring  Surely  he  will 
win!  The  sympathy  of  the  spectators  is  with  the  superb 
young  cavalry  leader,  who  returned  but  a  month  ago  from 
West  Point,  and  already  has  organized  a  cavalry  regiment 
and  will  leave  next  week  for  Virginia. 


"Hurrah !  Hurrah !"  resounds  on  every  side,  as  fast  as  he 
takes  the  rings. 

Julia  Dearing  is  excited  as  she  never  was  before.  Exulting 
in  his  success  she  could  not  help  admiring  the  superb,  reck- 
less, daring  and  graceful  carriage  of  her  champion,  and  she 
began  to  wonder  if  she  had  not  made  a  mistake  in  rejecting 
HO  gallant  a  cavalier.  But  could  she  have  seen  the  proud, 
Sf*ernful  look  upon  his  face,  she  would  have  realized  that  no 
effort  could  ever  again  make  Bruton  Stewart  a  suppliant  for 
her  favor. 

It  was  the  look  of  a  man  who  scorned  the  very  success  he 
was  achieving  in  securing  these  harmless  rings;  it  was  the 
look  of  a  man  who  courts  death  in  battle ;  it  was  the  look 
of  a  herculean  "Front  de-Boeuf." 

What  means  the  sudden  hush — then  the  scream,  as  Julia 
sees  the  horse  stumble,  fall,  and  Bruton  Stewart  thrown 
headlong  and  senseless  on  the  ground.  The  horse,  in  at- 
tempting to  rise,  leaped  upon  the  prostrate  form. 

'"Give  him  air !  Don't  crowd  around  him !"  cried  Latane, 
the  first  to  reach  his  side,  and  a  moment  later  Julia  Dearing 
was  also  at  his  side. 


From    the    Chapter  entitled    "THE  STARS  AND  BARS." 

They  had  not  a  vessel  on  the  seas,  not  a  regiment  of  vet- 
eran troops ;  no  arsenals  nor  manufactories  for  making  arms 
and  ammunition. 

The  "Free  States,"  under  the  slogan  of  "Union,"  were  bat- 
tling for  the  balance  of  power ;  the  "Slave  States,"  under  the 
slogan  of  "Liberty,"  were  fighting  for  independence — repell- 
ing invaders — protecting  their  homes  and  firesides. 

The  Constitution  of  the  Confederate  States  absolutely  pro- 
hibited the  over-sea  slave  trade;  that  of  the  Union  did  not. 
The  Federals  declared  that  they  were  fighting  to  emancipate 
the  negro  ;  the  Confederates  retorted  that  the  Constitution  was 
the  shield  of  slavery,  and  that  under  its  protection,  they 
had  invested  two  thousand-*  of  millions  of  dollars  in  the 
"peculiar  institution,"  and  that  emancipation  without  com- 
pensation meant  ruin.  The  logic  of  events  made  slavery 
the  corner-stone  of  the  new  government.  Meanwhile 
Washington,  Jefferson,  and  three-fourths  of  all  the  Presi- 
dents of  the  United  States  from  the  beginning  of  the  gov- 
ernment, were  slave-holders.  Disunion  had  its  origin  in  New 
England,  now  the  hot-bed  of  unionism  and  abolitionism. 

On  four  Sf-parate  occasions  Massachusetts  had  threatened 
to  secede  from  the  Union  ;  on  one  occasion  her  Legislature 
had  actually  passed  a  vote  of  secession.  One  of  the  chief 
leaders  of  the  abolitionists  on  the  fourth  of  July,  1856,  un- 
dertook to  "register  a  pledge  before  heaven  to  do  what  within 
him  lay  to  efiect  the  eternal  overthrow  ot  the  Union."  He 
was  now  taking  an  active  part  in  support  of  the  war  to 
maintain  that  Union. 

And  yet  the  father  of  the  Republican  party,  the  great 
Federalist,  Alexander  Hamilton,  stigmatized  coercion  of 
sovereign  Stat  s  as  "madness." 

American  leaders  seemed  to  be  political  Iconoclasts. 

The  Union  had  been  the  shield  of  slaverv,  and  the  slave- 
holders  now  took  the  initiative  in  casting  aside  that  shield. 

One  fought  for  the  rights  of  the  sovereign  States;  the 
other  for  an  Imperial  Republic. 

Thus  this  clash  of  arms  between  these  Titaiis ! 


From  the  Chapter  entitled  "THE  CAPITAL." 

Richmond  was  crowded  with  troops,  officers  and  office- 
seekers.  Regiments  were  being  marched  to  their  quarters 
as  fast  as  they  arrived  from  the  south.  Orderlies  galloped 
through  the  streets  on  their  errands,  and  congressmen  and 
ladies  mingled  with  the  throng  which  hurried  through  the 
principal  thoroughfares.  In  those  early  regiments  gray- 
bearded  men  marched  side-by-side  with  youths  and  boys 
hardly  in  their  ''teens." 

The  hardy  mountaineer  with  his  trusty  rifle  laughed  at 
the  raillery  of  the  youth  at  his  side,  fresh  from  the  mercan- 
tile counter,  or  ridiculed  the  fanc}"  boots  of  some  parlor- 
knight  who  rode,  nevertheless,  like  a  veteran  cavalryman. 

Aides-de-camp,  with  their  glittering  uniforms  and  per- 
ished accoutrements,  their  huse  boots  reaching  nearly  to 
their  waists  and  enclosing  their  pantaloons,  dashing  the 
Texas  rowels  into  the  flanks  of  their  steeds,  hurried  past  as 
if  the  fate  of  the  country  depended  on  the  celerity  of  their 
movements.  Cavaliers  and  gay  young  Southern  girls — 
scions  of  the  "F.  F.  V.'s"— go  dashing  past  to  view  theeven- 
ing  dress-parade  of  the  brigade  which  had  so  distinguished 
itself  at  Manassas.  As  they  pass  the  General  Hospital  their 
gayety  is  moderated,  the  speed  of  their  horses  is  slackened, 
and  hushed  voices  are  eloquent  with  patriotic  meaning. 

The  heroes  of  that  grand  battle  are  lying  there,  and  the 
groans  of  the  wounded  are  heard  without  the  building.  In 
the  rear,  stretched  on  tables,  lie  the  desperately  wounded  to 
whom  chloroform  has  been  administered,  and  the  scalpel  of 
the  surgeon  is  busy  amputating  limbs  and  casting  them 
aside  with  as  much  sang-froid  as  if  these  were  victims  of  the 
abattoir,  not  men  and  youths  from  the  proudest  families  of 
the  land. 

Side-by-side  were  ranged  the  cots  throughout  the  length 
and  breadth  of  the  vast  building,  and  side-by-side  lay  the 
factory  operative  and  the  heir  to  a  wealthy  estate,  each  a 
private  soldier,  each  desperately  wounded.  For,  in  those 
gallant  days  of  genuine  patriotism,   the  wealthiest  and  the 

2 


most  cultured  were  the  first  to  enlist,  and  the}^  were  singu- 
larly free  from  the  desire  to. rank  their  fellows,  or  claim  pre- 
cedence on  account  of  their  wealth. 

The  plowman  left  his  plowshare  standing  in  the  field; 
the  mtciianic  put  up  his  tools  for  more  peaceful  times;  the 
})rofessor,  tiie  lawyer,  the  physician,  the  njinister,  the  stu- 
dent, exchanged  the  library  for  the  bivouac  and  the  battle- 
field. Th^re  were  ]>rivate  soldiers,  worth  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  dollars,  who  refused  to  receive  any  pay  irom  the 
government. 

Involuntarily,  it  seemed,  the  gentlemen  of  this  gay  caval- 
cade took  <  ff  their  hats,  and  the  ladie-  bowe'i,  .-i.-  a  distin- 
guished looking  old  gentleman,  accompanied  by  a  be  utiful 
young  sfirl,  stopped  and  scanned  the  ported  of  a  large  build- 
ing as  if  in  doubt  as  to  wt  ether  it  was  the  place  he  was  spek- 
ino;.  The  girl  touched  his  arm  t)  recall  his  pre-occup'ed 
mind  ju-t  as  t'  e  ladies  and  their  ^scort-^,  divining  the  object 
of  his  search,  liad  saluted  ilipni.  With  native  dignity  and 
stately  courte-y  he  lifted  his  hat  to  return  the  unexpected 
salutation,  hui  resumed  immediately  his  observations.  He 
was  speking  to  find  a  son  who  liad  been  wounded  at  Manas- 
sas. The  wind  blew  his  white  hair  to  and  fro  as  he  ascended 
the  steps  of  the  ho^pitd  arm^d  with  the  ne-cessar^^  authority 
to  enter.  The  surfreon  met  them  at  the  door,  and  the  face  of 
the  kind-hearted  physician  told  them  that  Hugh's  recovery 
was  very  doubtful,  if  not  impo-siblf^. 

'•Is  he  conscious,  doctor?"  asked  Colonel  Leslie. 

"  No,  he  is  under  the  influence  of  opiates?'' 

"  Suppose  they  are  discontinued?" 

"  Delirium  would  ensue  and,  perhaps,  result  fatally.  For 
the  present  good  nursing  is  our  best  auxiliar}^,  and  we  have 
the  best  in  the  world  here." 

"  Let  me  nurse  my  poor,  darling  brother !"  said  Clara,  with 
an  appealing  look  to  the  surgeon. 

"  It  w^ould  be  the  worst  thing  you  could  do  for  him,  my 
dear  young  lady.  I  appreciate  your  feelings,  but  any  excite- 
ment now  will  be  fatal  to  your  brother." 

Clara  sank  in  a  chair  and  sobbed  as  if  her  heart  would 
break. 

"Can  we  not  see  him,  doctor?"  asked  her  father. 

The  surgeon  hesitated,  then  said :  "  I  will  not  take  the 


respnnsibility  of  refusing,  but  I  caution  you,  as  you  value 
his  lifn,  to  preserve  ihe  utmost  quiet:  it  will  not  be  well  if 
Lieutenant  Leslie  recognizes  you." 

Then  he  slowlv  preceded  them  through  the  hospital. 
There  were,  hundreds  in  that  building,  and  the  scene,  amid 
the  groans  ot  the  wounded  and  the  anguish  of  the  dying, 
attend«-d  by  the  patient  care  and  watchfulness  of  those  white- 
bonneced  Samaritans,  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  was  enough 
to  overcome  the  stoutest  heart.  In  the  quietest  corner,  near 
an  open  window,  slept  two  j^ouths,  one  dressed  in  gray,  the 
other  in  blue. 

The  first  was  Hugh  Leslie,  the  second  Charles  Barnum.  the 
latter  dressed  in  the  Federal  uniform.  Had  they  not 
respected  Hugh's  request  that  Barnum  should  be  rescued 
and  treated  just  as  he  was,  the  excitement  would  have  killed 
him.  Both  were  under  the  influence  of  morphine.  Hugh's 
face  and  hands  were  very  pale,  his  pulse  very  feeble,  himsfelf 
very  Cjuiet.  Barnum,  in  spite  of  an  uglier  wound,  seemed 
stronger.  Hush's  lips  moved,  a  faint  flush  came  into  his 
cheeks  as,  half-raising  his  form,  in  delirium  he  uttered  a 
cheer.     The  gallant  boy  was  fighting  the  battle  over  j<gain. 

Clara,  witli  irresistible  impulse,  forgetting  her  promise, 
knelt  at  his  side  and  kissed  his  pallid  brow  and  lips,  and 
smoothed  the  hair  on  that  pale,  white  forehead  very  care- 
fully that  she  might  not  hurt  him. 

Hugh  smiled  a  sweet,  gentle  smile  and  murmured  feebly : 
^'  Clara,  Clara,  my  gentle  sister !"  then  sank  into  uncon- 
sciousness. 

The  surgeon  lifted  her  up  and  drew  her  away  in  spite 
of  her  violent  sobs  which  seemed  about  to  break  her  loving 
heart.  Her  father,  as  he  neared  the  door,  could  only  utter : 
"  My  poor  boy,  my  poor  boy?"  The  doctor  told  them  that 
Hugh's  life  depended  on  their  absenting  themselves  until 
the  crisis  had  passed,  assuring  them  that  he  would  warn 
them  in  time  whatever  might  be  Hugh's  fate. 


From  the  Chapter  entitled  "THE  KU-KLUX-KLAN." 

A  hen,  in  gathering  her  chickens  together  and  sheltering 
them  with  her  wings,  when  danger  menac^^s  them,  cries  ta 
them :  ''Ku-Klux !  Ku-Klux !"  From  so  simple  a  fact 
originated  the  name  of  the  dreaded  secret  society  called  the 
Kii-Klux-Klan. 

The  statutes  of  the  French  carbonari  were  most  stringent. 
The  faintest  whisper  of  the  secrets  of  the  society  to  outsiders 
constituted  treason,  and  was  punishable  with  death.  No 
written  communications  were  permitted.  In  1819,  there  were 
about  '^0,000  carbonari  in  Paris.  In  1821,  the  government 
was  officially  informed  that  the  society  existed  in  twenty- 
five  out  of  the  eighty-six  departments  in  France. 

The  carbonari  in  Italy  and  France  were  republicans. 
Men  like  Voyer  d'Argenson,  Lafayette,  Laffitte,  Dupont  de 
I'Eure,  Barthe,  Teste,  and  other  republicans  of  mark,  joined 
the  movement,  and  adopted  the  ritual  of  the  Abruzzi  carbo- 
nari. The  Congres  National  of  the  Carbonari,  which  had  its 
headquarters  at  Paris,  seemed  for  a  time  omnipotent.  All 
the  insurrectionary  movements  from  1819  to  1822  were 
attributed  to  them. 

After  the  July  revolution  of  1830,  the  carbonari  gave  in 
their  allegiance  to  Louis  Philippe.  The  conservative  car- 
bonari do  not  now  exist;  but  the  radical  faction  founded  the 
new  charhonnerie  democratique.  This  carbonari  is  called  La 
Gomniune.  The  old  '^Commune"  which  acted  with  the  Ja- 
cobins and  reeked  with  the  deeds  of  Robespierre  and  Danton, 
is  dead. 

The  new  Commune  are  "  Red  Republicans"  and  Socialists ; 
they  are  members  of  the  Societe  Internationale^  the  members 
of  which  are  called  Nihilists  in  Russia. 

The  same  discontent,  the  same  violent  agitation  by  revo- 
lutionary proletarians,  characterized  the  secret  society  of 
Ireland. 

The  colonel  of  the  69th  New  York  regiment,  and  the  gen- 
eral commanding  the  "Irish  Brigade"  in  the  Union  army, 
were  Fenians.      There  were    35,000  Fenians  regularly  en- 


rolled  in  Ireland  in  1858.  Catholics  in  Ireland  were  pro- 
hibited by  law  from  possessing  fire-arms.  "Circles"  were 
established  in  all  the  large  American  cities,  and  thousands 
of  soldiers  in  both  the  Union  and  the  Confederate  armies 
were  Fenians.  The  Fenian  society  had  its  ramifications  all 
over  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  A  member  of  the  Canadian 
ministry  was  killed  on  the  steps  of  his  own  door;  his  oppo- 
sition to  Fenianism  was  alleged  as  the  motive  for  the  deed. 
The  Duke  of  Edinburg  was  dangerously  wounded  in  Port 
Jackson,  Australia. 

•Carbonari  in  Italy,  the  Commune  in  France,  Fenianism 
in  Ireland,  Socialism  in  Germany,  Nihilism  in  Russia, 
Kukluxism  in  the  Southern  States.  Well  misfht  the  ques- 
tion be  a«ked  in  the  United  States  Senate,  "Can  you  place 
in  penitentiary  walls  eight  millions  of  people?" 

Civil  law  had  been  annihilated,  and  anarchy  reigned 
supreme.  Three  States  now  constituted  the  "Third  Military 
District."  Martial  law  was  declared ;  "Magna  Charta"  for- 
gotten ;  the  "habeas  corpus"  Act  a  nullity. 

An  ignorant  mass  of  semi-civilized  beings,  recently  eman- 
cipated, were  being  organized  in  every  county  in  the  South 
into  secret  societies  called  "Loyal  Leagues."  They  were 
taught  that  their  former  masters  were  their  oppressors  and 
enemies.  The  organizers  of  these  "circles,"  of  these  "huts," 
of  these  "venditas,"  of  these  "ventes"  in  the  Southern  States 
were  adventurers  of  the  meanest  sort ;  men  without  princi- 
ple and  without  patriotism ;  men  who  would  have  joined 
the  anarchists  in  Russia,  Ireland,  Italy  or  France ;  men  who 
were  not  recognized  as  good  citizens  or  respectable  members 
of  society  in  any  part  of  the  United  States.  The  majority 
of  them  were  penniless  adventurers  who  had  not  fought  in 
either  army.     They  were  called  "Scallawags." 

When  King  Louis  XVIII.  succeeded  the  exiled  Emperor 
Napoleon  in  1817,  the  people  of  France  were  divided  into 
two"  parties — conquered  Imperialists  and  triumphant  Loy- 
alists; but  they  were  Frenchmen,  all  of  the  same  race,  im- 
pulses, characteristics  and  sentiments.  Deserters  and  trait- 
ors flaunted  the  evidence  of  their  paid-for  treachery  before 
the  disgusted  eyes  of  their  compatriots,  who  had  vainly  fol- 
lowed the  fortunes  of  their  dethroned  emperor.  Riches  fol- 
lowed trea<ihery. 


Human  nature  is  the  same  the  world  over,  and  in  all 
times,  among  all  peoples,  success  is  worshipped  by  the  fickle 
populace  eager  to  cry,  "The  King  is  dead;  long  live  the 
King!" 

So  it  was  in  the  South,  and  the  few  white  citizens  who 
became  suppliant  "boot-licks"  to  the  conquerors  were  en- 
riched with  unearned  wealth  and  rewarded  for  their  treach- 
ery. They  were  insolent  in  their  pretensions,  arrogant  in 
their  professions,  mendacious  in  their  reports,  and  they 
alone  were  believed  and  trusted  by  the  government.  Among 
them  Wellington  Napoleon  Potts  was  a  shining  light.  But 
they  were  a  mere  handful,  while  the  illiterate,  semi-civilized 
negroes  just  emerging  from  slavery  were  an  easv  prey  to  the 
designing  adventurers  who  assumed  all  political  power. 
Three  typical  leaders  met.  They  counselled  together.  Said 
one :  "Our  cause  is  lost,  and  I  shall  leave  the  country." 
And  the  mighty  leader,  with  his  shaggy  locks  and  lordly 
mien,  passed  away  unpardoned  and  unrepentant  to  the  last. 
What  other  country  would  have  allowed  him,  no  longer  a 
citizen  of  the  United  States,  to  hold  high  office  in,  and  frame 
the  organic  laws  of,  his  native  State?  Another,  whose 
feeble  frame  held  an  eagle  spirit,  dauntless,  unselfish,  patri- 
otic, humanitarian  !  the  leader  in  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives, as  the  former  was  in  the  Senate  of  the  United  States, 
stood  up  upon  his  crutches  and  calmly  said :  "I  have  com- 
mitted no  crime ;  I  shall  live  quietly  at  home  among  my 
people."  Nor  could  the  fetters  and  disease  engendered  by 
prison  air  break  his  spirit;  and  when  death  came,  it  found 
him  the  Governor  of  his  State  and  honored  throughout  the 
Union. 

The  third,  an  ex-State  official,  as  prompt  to  "bend  the  knee 
that  thrift  might  follow  fawning,"  as  he  was  to  plunge  the 
people,  to  whom  he  was  indebted  for  all  that  he  had,  into 
desperate  war,  espoused  the  cause  of  radicalism  and  became 
the  richest  man  in  the  State.  Twelve  years  before  he  was 
an  obscure  lawyer,  poor  and  almost  unknown.  Four  years 
before,  still  poor,  he  was  the  universally  trusted  servant 
of  the  people ;  two  years  before  their  heroic  civic  leader, 
whose  iron  will  scorned  to  treat  with  the  enemy  on  any 
other  basis  than  the  entire  independence  of  the  sovereign 
State,  which  he  seemed  to  consider,  as  did  Louis  XIV.,  the 


kingdom  of  France,  ''LEtat  c'est  moiT  (''The  State,  it  is  I !") 
And  thus  was  the  ballot  placed  in  the  hands  of  ignorant  ne- 
groes suddenly  emancipated. 

And  yet  in  many  of  the  Western  States  the  organic  law 
discriminated  directly  against  the  negro,  though  there  was 
but  one  negro  to  a  thousand  white.'^.  Even  Kansas,  which 
entered  the  Union  in  1864,  during  the  throes  of  that  bloody 
war  which  was  inaugurated  on  her  soil,  restricted  the  right 
of  suffrage  to  the  white  man.  Nevada,  w^hose  admission  to 
the  Union  was  subsequent  to  the  enactment  of  the  13th 
amendment,  deni  d  suffrage  to  "any  negro,  Chinaman  or 
mulatto."  The  question  of  admitting  the  negro  to  suffrage 
was  submitted  to  popular  vote  in  Connecticut,  Wisconsin 
and  Minnesota  in  the  autumn  of  1865,  and  at  the  same  time 
in  Colorado  when  she  was  forming  her  constitution  prepara- 
tory to  seeking  admission  to  the  Union,  and  in  all  four, 
under  control  of  the  Republican  party  at  the  time,  the 
proposition  was  defeated. 

In  Connecticut  only  those  negroes  were  allowed  to  vote 
who  were  admitted  freedmen  prior  to  1818.  New  York  per- 
mitted a  negro  to  vote  only  after  he  had  been  a  citizen  three 
years,  and  for  one  year  the  owner  of  a  freehold  worth  $250, 
free  of  all  incumbrances.  In  the  other  Northern  States 
only  white  men  were  allowed  to  vote. 

\ 


From  the  Chapter  Entitled  "Uncle  Barney." 

The  young  negro  valet ^  Hallback,  was  an  interesting  char- 
acter in  his  way.  His  father's  grandfather  was  said  to  have 
been  the  chief  of  his  tribe  before  he  had  been  captured  and 
brought  to  America  and  sold  into  slavery.  Whether  true  or 
false,  the  efiect  of  this  tradition  was  to  give  to  Hallback  a 
self-esteem  not  common  with  his  race,  and,  his  pretentions 
not  being  received  pleasantly  by  the  negroes  on  the  estate, 
intensified  his  feeling  of  isolation. 

The  fact,  too,  that  education  was  denied  hy  law  to  slaves, 
and  that  his  young  master  had  instructed  his  Fable  play- 
fellow in  the  rudiments  of  reading  and  writing,  inculcated 
a  morose  feeling  of  discontent  in  the  breast  of  this  young 
negro  slave.  But  he  never  complained  of  his  lot,  for  he 
could  but  realize  that  his  very  isolation  caused  a  deeper 
sympathy  to  be  felt  and  shown  him  by  his  mistress  and  her 
children  than  was  evinced  for  the  other  negroes.  He  was 
perfectly  black,  and,  nf^ver  having  labored  at  hard  work, 
his  hands  and  feet  were  smaller  than  those  of  negroes  usu- 
ally are, 

One  day  after  Henry  Latane's  return  home  on  furlough, 
he  secured  a  copy  of  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  and,  though  it 
was  difficult  for  him  to  read  it,  he  did  so  at  night  by  the 
lightwood  fire  in  his  cabin,  and  from  that  day  his  mind 
brooded  over  his  situation  and  condition  as  a  slave.  His 
near  relatives  were  dead,  and  he  had  no  one  in  whom  he 
could  confide  the  thoughts  which  grew  like  an  yeast  in  his 
brain  until  sleep  seemed  banished  from  his  pillow.  There 
is  just  enough  truth  in  that  wonderful  romance  to  lend 
conviction  to  an  ignorant  mind,  eager  to  believe  all  that  is 
there  related,  yet  "appreciative  of  the  rare  kindness  which 
had  been  his  portion  all  his  life. 

To  his  mind  every  aged  butler  was  another  "Uncle  Tom," 
and  he  felt  quite  sure  that  his  little  mistress,  Minnie,  was 
another  Eva,  blessed  with  all  that  lends  to  human  nature  its 
sunniest  attributes.  '~ 

He  loved  as  well  as  respected  Henry  Latane,  who,  wheth- 


er  in  camp  or  in  the  snow-bounded  bivouac,  always  divided 
such  luxuries  as  he  had  with  his  faithful  servant,  and  ever 
endeavored  to  shield  him  from  the  post  of  danger.  But 
Hallback  seemed  indifferent  to  danger,  and  while  he  took 
no  part  in  the  battles  and  skirmishes  in  which  his  young 
master  was  so  frequently  engaged,  he  was  often  under  fire, 
and  seemed  to  court,  rather  than  avoid,  danger. 

He  surprised  Henry  Latane  one  day  by  replying  to  his 
order  that  he  should  go  to  the  rear  :  "  I  will  go,  Alarse  Henry, 
since  you  order  me  to;  hut  I  loish  I  had  a  country  to  fight  for  r 

MeauAvhile  he  was  obedient,  submissive  and  patient,  and 
no  one  could  justly  upbraid  him  for  not  doing  his  duty. 

After  the  battles  he  would  request  Latane's  permission  to 
go  out  with  the  ambulance  and  succor  the  wounded,  and  the 
drivers  observed,  without  objecting,  that  Hallback  seemed 
particularly  solicitous  about  the  wounded  Federal  soldiers. 

In  battle  animosity  gives  way  before  the  flash  of  eternity, 
which  is  before  every  man's  eyes,  and  he  is  a  craven  at  heart 
w^ho  would  not  alleviate  the  sufferings  of  a  gallant  foeman 
after  the  clash  of  arms  is  ended. 

^^  ^  -^  :^  -^  ^  ^^ 

He  ceased  reading,  closed  the  Bible  and  turned  toward 
Hallback,  who  had  listened  attentively  and  had  been  evi- 
dently impiessed. 

;'  Well  ?"  said  Hallback. 

"  Do  you  not  see  how  powerless  we  are,  and  that  we  are  as 
little  birds  in  the  hands  of  Him?"  said  Barney,  with  hand 
uplifted,  while  his  eyes  sought  those  of  his  visitor. 

"I  don't  know,  Uncle  Barney.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  the  hereafter.  It  is  the  ever-living  present— the  pres- 
ent which  sees  my  race  doomed  to  servitude  forever— that 
oppresses  me  all  the  time." 

"Then  learn  to  know,  my  son;  to  believe  is  to  know.  We 
are  powerless.  For  generations  niggers  have  been  slaves  in 
this  country.  The  few  free  niggers  we  have  among  us  are 
no  happier  than  we  are.  There  is  Bill  Baxter,  who  owns 
other  niggers,  he  is  not  as  happy  as  I  am." 

''  Oh,  tJncle  Barney,  you  are  not  like  the  rest  of  us.  E  verv- 
l)ody  respects  you,  even  Mr.  Washburn.  You  don't  know 
what  it  is." 

Taking  off  his  coat,  then  his  shirt,  the  old  man  showed 


his  muscular  torso,  and  there  on  his  bare  back  were  the  scars 
inflicted  years  belore  by  a  brutal  overseer's  hand.  Upon  his 
broad  breast  were  two  wounds  which  seemed  to  have  been 
inflicted  by  the  knife. 

And  now  the  old  negro's  self  possession  seemed  to  fail  him, 
for  his  breast  heaved  with  terrible  excitement  as  memory 
bore  him  back  to  the  days  of  his  youth,  when  resistance 
produced  almost  fatal  wounds.  Calming  himself,  he  asked 
Hallback : 

"Are  you  convinced  that  I  do  know  what  it  is?" 

"I  would  never  have  rested  until  I  had  killed  the  man 
who  did  it !"  said  Hallback. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  kill.  Vengeance  is  mine,  saith  the  Lord," 
answered  Barney  meekly,  but  fervently. 

"  Now,  Hallback,  listen  to  me.  Marst'^r  s  brother  took  my 
part  when  I  received  tbese  wounds,  and  lost  his  lile  in  de- 
fending me.  If  he  were  alive  to-day,  would  it  not  be  my 
duly  to  serve  him  all  my  life  ? 

"  George  Washburn  killed  my  nephew  in  ct)ld  blood,  and 
he  claims  now  to  be  the  only  friend  we  poor  niggers  have. 
What  is  mv  duty  toward  him  ?" 

"Kill  him!"  muttered  Hallback. 

"Hush,  ray  son.  Put  away  such  evil  thoughts.  God,  in 
his  own  time,  will  punish  him;  and  you — will  3'ou  not  de- 
serve a  like  fate  if  vou  harbor  murder  in  vour  heart?" 

"  But  what  are  we  to  do?"  replied  Hallback. 

"  Wait,  and  trust  in  the  Lord.  He  will  provide.  This 
war  is  His  doings;  and  He  will  treat  us  as  He  treated  the 
Israelites." 

"  What !  give  us  the  land  ?" 

"  If  we  deserve  it — yes,  all  that  we  need.  But  would  you 
take  Marse  Henry's  land  away  from  him  if  you  could  ?" 

"No;  I  would  not.  Buc  I  would  take  Washburn's,  and 
anybody  else's  land  except  Marse  Henry's." 

"  Wait,  and  the  land  will  be  given  to  us." 

"  But.  Uncle  Barney,  it  won't  be  given  to  us  unless  we  fight 
for  it,  and  I  have  come  to  tell  you  good  bye :  I  am  going  to 
fight  for  it." 

"  Who  you  gwine  to  fight,  Hall?" 

"  The  Rebels." 

"  Who  is  de  Rebels?" 


"  The  white  folks— the  Rebel  army— the " 

"  Is  yer  gwine  to  shoot  Marse  Henry  ?" 

Hallback  bent  his  head  and  the  tears  forced  their  way 
through  his  fingers,  and  his  sobs  prevented  an  answer. 

''  It  won't  do,  Hall,  my  son.  For  in  the  absence  of  your 
father  and  mother  in  heaven,  you  are  my  son.  I  preach  to 
a  thousand  niggers  like  you  and  me,  and  tell  them  all  what 
I  tell  you  — we  are  in  the  hands  of  the  Lord,  and  He  will 
provide." 

The  young  negro  man  stood  up  now,  hat  in  hand,  and  said, 
''Good-bye,  Uncle  Barney;  you  don't  know%  as  I  do,  what 
will  happen  soon." 

"What  gwine  to  happen,  boy  ?" 

"The  Rebels  will  force  all  of  us  young  niggers  into  their 
army,  and  we  will  be  shooting  at  our  friends." 

A  twinkle  of  humor  lighted  old  Barney's  eyes  as  he 
asked:  "Hall, did  you  ever  see  two  dogs  fight  over  a  bone?" 

"Certainly  I  have;  why  do  you  ask  me  that  question?" 

"  Well,  then,  did  you  ever  see  the  hone  fight  .^" 

A  broad  smile,  followed  by  laughter,  was  Hallback's  an- 
swer as  he  saw  the  force  of  the  old  preacher's  parable,  and  he 
took  his  depature  in  a  better  frame  of  mind  than  he  had[ 
had  for  a  long  time. 


CHAPTER  IX— OLD  ZEKE. 

The  old  Federal  road  ran  along  the  west  side  of  the  prem- 
ises at  "  Chestnut  Hill,"  and  near  it  was  the  garden,  and  the 
house  of  the  gardener,  old  Zeke.  Like  most  of  his  race,  Zeke 
talked  to  himself  while  alone  at  work,  or  sang  lowly  por- 
tions of  hymns  peculiar  to  African  hymnology. 

He  frequently  talked  to  the  fowls,  which  crowded  around 
him,  eager  to  get  anything  which  he  might  bestow  upon 
them. 

On  the  day  selected  by  Barnum  for  his  adventure,  the  old 
man  had  admitted  some  pet  hens  into  the  garden,  "  to  help 
me  rake  it,  chickens,''  he  affirmed.  He  would  dig  a  few 
spades  full  of  earth,  carefully  turning  it  over  each  time,  the 
poultry  watching  him  as  if  deeply  interested  in  his  investi- 
gations. 

"  Whar  all  de  wurms  gone  to,  chickens?"  lie  asked.  Then 
he  dug  again,  and  threw  toward  them  the  worms. 

''  You'se  all  de  same  age — j^ou  is — and  you  kin  jist  fight 
over  dem  wurms :  fust  come,  fust  sarved  is  de  rule."  After 
a  while  a  cock,  which  had  been  trying  to  get  into  the  gar- 
den, succeeded  in  flying  over  the  fence  and  dispersing  the 
hens,  as  he  rapidly  executed  that  political  maxim,  "  to  the 
victor  belong  the  spoils,"  pursuing  finally  a  hen  that  had 
not  succeeded  in  swallowing  her  prize.  Old  Zeke  raised  his 
head,  kee23ing  his  foot  on  the  spade  meanwhile,  and  looking 
around  said  :  "  What  dat  rackit  'bout  ?''  Then  he  spied  the 
cock.  "  Whar  did  you  cum  frum,  rooster  ?  Git  out  o'  here  you 
blasted  nigger,  you !"  and  then  the  old  man  chased  the  con- 
tumacious rooster;  now  tnrowing  clods  of  earth,  now  a  hoe, 
then  a  stone,  always  missing  the  object  of  his  wrath,  until 
his  breath  was  exhausted.  "  I'll  fix  you  yit,  you  triflin'  var- 
mint!" said  the  old  negro,  shaking  his  head  and  fist  at  the 
cock,  which  had  taken  refuge  in  the  raspberry  bushes  first, 
and  then  had  made  its  exit.  There  were  the  strawberry 
beds  and  asparagus  beds,  mashed  down  b}^  the  old  felLow  in 
his  angry  chase,  and  there  the  grape-vines  torn  down,  fully 


a  week's  labor,  caused  by  the  irruption  of  this  piratical 
rooster.  As  the  old  man  surveyed  the  scene  of  confusion  in 
this  sacred  precinct,  which  he  ruled  like  a  despot,  quarreling 
even  with  his  master  if  he  ordered  any  changes  to  be  made 
or  new  plants  introduced  without  first  consulting  him,  he 
got  more  and  more  indignant. 

The  chickens  crowded  around  him  again,  and  old  Zeke 
thus  endeavored  to  console  them  :  "  Never  mind,  chickens, 
dat  rooster  '11  never  bodder  you  no  more ;  I  'clare  'fore  God 
he  wont!"  The  chickens  seemed  delighted.  Then  going 
to  the  fence,  he  leaned  on  it,  and  cried  :  "  Hezekiah  !  Oh, 
Hez  I  Oh,  Hez !  you  Hezekiah  !  Come  here,  nigger !"  Then 
he  muttered  to  himself:  "Drat  dat  chile;  'pears 's  if  he 
ain't  got  no  more  p'liteness  dan-dan  a  rooster." 

"Hello!"  said  a  voice  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence. 
As  old  Zeke  looked  around  he  saw  the  tall  form  of  a  travel- 
stained  man,  evidently  a  "  tramp,"  dressed  in  a  dilapidated 
suit  of  jeans.  The  man  held  a  carpet-bag  in  his  hand  and  a 
roll  of  blanket  under  one  arm. 

"  Hello  !"  repeated  the  stranger. 

"Hello,  yourself!"  ejaculated  old  Zeke. 

"I'm  tollerable;  how's  your  family?" 

"  Four  wives  buried,  and  a  huntin'  of  a  young  gal  now 
what  wants  ter  marry — sixteen  chillun,  ten  of 'em  gals,  or 
women  ruther,  and  fifty -two  grand-chillun ;  all  well,  thank 
ye.     How  mout  be  yourn,  stranger  ?" 

The  stranger  laughed.  "  You  seem  pretty  well  satisfied, 
old  man,"  said  he. 

"  Seemin's  lying,  den  ;  dat's  what  'tis,"  said  Zeke. 

"Then  you  are  not  satisfied?"  queried  the  man. 

"  In  course  I  ain't.  Ain't  I  wukked  to  death  ?  And  den 
dese  here  tarnal  roosters  and  chillun  what  won't  heer  noth- 
in'  and  won't  mind  nothin'  what  dey  do  beer's  nuff  to  drive 
me  'stracted!  Sartinly,  I  ain't  satisfied.  Ain't  I  done 
raised  two  craps  o'  chillun  fur  marster  ?  and  here  I  is,  wuk- 
kinyit!" 

"That  does  seem  pretty  hard.  Who  lives  here,  old 
man  ?" 

"Why,  marster  lives  here,"  replied  old  Zeke,  "and  me. 
and  a  heap  o'  niggers. 


"Who  is  your  marster,  1113^  friend?"  (Particular  stress 
laid  on  the  last  two  words.) 

"  Look  a  here,  stranger,  whar  did  you  come  from,  any- 
how ?  Is  you  from  K'iin}^?"  (Carolina).  Evidently  old 
Zekc  considered  it  a  phenomenon  for  a  man  not  to  know 
who  Col.  Leslie  was.  Before  the  man  could  reply  old  Zeke 
cauffht  sight  of  a  boy.  Now  a  b  >y  i-<  generally  suggestive  of 
broken  china  or  other  evidences  of  destructive  powers,  and 
the  boy  whom  old  Zeke  saw  was  not  an  exception.  "You 
Hez,  come  here  to  me,  sir,  you  good  for  no*hin'  brat!" 
The  boy  came  on,  making  faces  at  the  stranger  meanwhile, 
and  Zeke  resumed  his  conversation  with  that  individual. 
Said  he :  "  Folks  ain't  what  dey  use  to  was,  no  how.  Dat 
dere  boy's  'nuff  to  drive  me  'stracted." 

"  What  has  he  been  doing?"  asked  the  man. 

Old  Zeke  paused  and  scratched  his  head  to  answer  this 
unexpected  question  The  boy  had  arrived,  however,  and 
relieved  his  embarrassment.  Said  he:  "  Hez,  why  didn't 
you  come  when  I  fust  called  you ?  Wh}^  dont  you  mind 
me,  boy  ?" 

"  I  didn't  hear  you,"  replied  the  boy,  grinning  with  mis- 
chief, as  he  caught  the  stranger's  eye. 

"  Why  didn't  you  hear  me?  What's  yer  eers  made  fur?" 
asked  t^^e  old  patriarch. 

"  I  was  hidin'  de  pig,"  said  the  boy,  showing  his  ivories. 
As  the  boy  said  this  he  dodged,  and  as  he  dodged  the  old 
man  threw  a  "  chunk  o'  wood,"  as  he  called  it,  at  the  ur- 
chin. "I'll  chunk  yer  life  out'en  3^ou,  boy!  G'long  wid 
you,  nigger,  and  ketch  dat  rooster.  Ef  I  ketch  him  in  here 
agin,  I'm  gwine  to  take  de  hide  off  e'n  you!"  Hezekiah 
grinned,  cracked  his  heels  together,  turned  a  somersault, 
and  ran  back  to  the  cabin.  He  had  betrayed  a  weakness  of 
the  old  man's,  viz.,  stealing  a  fat  pig  occasionally.  In  old 
Zeke's  case  such  thefts  were  intentionally  not  discovered. 

"  'Pears  to  be  a  smart  boy,"  said  the  stranger. 

"Yes,  he's  right  peart,  Hez.  is;  but  de  wust  chile  in  de 
world!"  said  the  old  man,  looking  fondly  at  his  favorite 
grand-child,  who  was  clapping  his  hands  to  his  legs,  imitat- 
ing the  sound  of  a  horse  running,  as  he  ran  back,  to  the 
cabin. 


''  You  say  your  marster  is  unjust  to  you — why  don't  you 
get  your  marster  to  sell  you?" 

"I've  axed  him  to  many  en'  many  a  time;  he  won't  do 
it;  he  caii't  spare  old  Zeke.  Marster  wouldn't  take  two 
thousand  dollars  fur  me." 

"  Are  you  more  valuable  than  the  other  old  men  ?" 

''Sartninly  I  is;  makin'  truck  (i.  e.  gardening)  is  one 
thing,  and  ))lowin'  an'hoein's  another.  Who  gwine  to  wukk 
dis  ere  gyardin  if  Zeke  ain't  here  ?     Now  tell  me  dat." 

"  Don't  the  other  old  men  work  as  hard  as  you  do?" 

"  Stranger,  whar  did  you  come  frum  ?  Sartainlv  not.  I 
works  harder'n  any  on  'em.  Dere's  Pompev ;  he's  two  years 
older'n  me.  He  don't  do  nothin'  but  shoot  crows  for  mars- 
ter, f.n'  ducks  and  squirrels  fur  hisselt.  Dere's  Club-foot 
Harry;  he  make^  baskits  in  de  fall  fur  to  pick  cotton  in, 
an'  he  suns  hisself  de  balance  of  de  year.  Dere's  Gary;  he 
don't  do  nothin'  but  make  horse-collars  and  drive  de  horse 
kyart  (cart).  Dere's  Gumbo;- he  feeds  de  mules  an' tends 
stock.  And  dere's  Big  Dick,  an'  ole  Mose,  an'  Yaller  Bill, 
an'  Step,  an'  Jake,  an'  Long  Tom,  an' a  heap  more  on  'em 
what  don't  do  nothin'  't  all,  vear  in  and  year  out." 

"  Who  feeds  and  clothes  them  ?'' 

'•  Marster.     I  say,  mister,  got  a  rhaw  terbacker  ?" 

The  stranger,  like  all  poor  people,  did  manage  to  save 
enough  to  provide  this  luxury,  and  he  gave  old  Zeke  a  quid, 
or,  in  his  parlance,  a  "chaw."' 

"And  yet  he  forces  you  to  work  ?"  suggested  the  tramp. 

"  Look-a-here,  mister,  to  tell  you  de  God's  trufe,  marster 
don't  do  no  sich  thing.  He  jest  says,  says  h--,  'Zeke;'  says 
I,  'Sir!'  Says  he,  '  Zeke,  you  go  down  to  Oswichee  and  live 
there,  and  I'll  try  to  get  some  one  else  to  take  your  place 
here ;  but  I  know  I  will  never  be  able  to  find  anybody  what 
knows  as  much  ab  )ut  gyardenin'  as  you  does.*' "  Says  I, 
'  Marster,  you  an'  me  is  a  most  wore  out,  we  is ;  an'  dis  ere 
gyarden  done  b'long  to  me  so  long  I  hates  to  leave  it.'  " 

"  If  he  would  give  you  your  freedom,  mv  friend,  would 
you  leave  it  ?" 

Old  Zeke  slowly  approached  the  man,  looked  at  him 
closely  and  said  :  "  Look  a  here,  mister,  who  is  you,  any- 
how ?  I  done  found  out  already  dat  vou  ain't  none  o'  our 
kind  o'  folks.     Whar  did  you  come  frum  ?" 


The  man  put  his  fingers  to  his  lips  in  token  of  silence, 
bowed,  and  pointed  to  Zeke's  cabin. 

"All  right !"  said  Zeke  in  a  confidential  tone,  "  you  go  to 
de  cabin." 

Then  he  sang  in  a  loud  voice  a  revival  hymn,  working 
industriously  meanwhile,  until  finally  he  gathered  up  his 
tools,  put  them  on  his  shoulder,  assumed  an  expression  of 
extra  innocence,  and  continued  his  song  until  he  reached 
the  cabin. 

Arrived  at  the  cabin,  after  putting  his  tools  in  a  corner, 
the  old  negro  went  to  the  door  and  looked  out  cautiously  to 
see  if  any  one  was  visible ;  then  re-entered  the  cabin,  and 
with  a  chuckle  of  satisfaction,  slapped  the  tramp  familiarly 
on  the  back,  and  extended  his  right  hand.  "Glad  to  see 
you  sir,  I  is.  What's  de  news  frum  Mr.  Washburn?"  Be- 
fore the  stranger  could  reply  oid  Zeke  had  deposited  himself 
in  a  chair  which  Hezekiah  had  placed  there  for  him,  and  al- 
most immediately  he  jumped  up  again,  with  the  angry  ex- 
pression:  "What!  whar  dat  chile?"  rubbing  himself 
meanwhile  as  if  in  pain.  "He's  de  aggravatenist  chile  on- 
hung!" 

The  mystery  was  soon  explained.  The  boy  had  placed  a 
red  hot  piece  of  iron  in  the  chair  just  as  the  old  man  sat 
down;  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  how  the  charm  worked,  had 
taken  himself  off,  with  the  peculiar  delight  which  boys  feel 
in  having  done  a  mischievous  thing. 

The  tramp  could  not  conceal  his  amusement.  But  a 
matter  of  too  great  importance  was  before  old  Zeke  now  to 
pay  any  more  attention  to  Hezekiah. 

"  Well,  old  man,  I  think  you'll  have  to  get  your  master  to 
sell  that  boy,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  Dar  'tis  agin !  Marster  won't  sell  no  nigger  onless  he 
wants  to  be  sold,  and  Hez.  don't.  He  wants  to  stay  here  to 
pester  me."  The  truth  was  the  old  man  had  begged  his 
"  marster"  to  let  him  have  the  boy  to  "  wait  on  him,"  as  he 
expressed  it :  and  he  would  have  sooner  parted  with  his 
hand  than  with  Hezekiah,  who  made  life  spicy  for  him. 

"  You  do  seem  to  have  your  troubles.  What's  your 
name  ?" 

"  Zeke." 


ii 
a 


give 


"  Mr.  Zeke,"  continued  the  man,  "  don't  you  want  to  be 
free  ?" 

"  'Deed  I  does,"' said  Zeke,  and  inspired  by  that  suggestive 
prefix,  ''  mister,"  the  old  man  continued  :  "  I  tell  you  what, 
I  wish  I  was  free !" 

"  That's  my  business  in  these  parts,  Mr.  Zeke.  I  wish  to 
set  vou  all  free,"  replied  the  stranger. 

"  Hi !  how  you  gwine  ter  do  it  ?" 

"  Will  you  help  me,  Mr.  Zeke  ?" 
Will  I  help  you  to  help  iiief     Sartainly  I  will." 
Well,  you  tell  all  the  old  men  like  yourself  to  meet  me 
at  Ringgold  with  their  children  and  their  children's  chil- 
dren, and  I  will  lead  them  to  Ohio,  and  you'll  all  be  free  ; 
that's  what  this  war  is  for." 

"Golly!"  said  Zeke,  smiling  at  the  prospect.     "Will  dey 
ive  us  all  houses  to  live  in,  an'  carriages  an'  bosses,  an'  nig- 
gers—no, we  don't  want  no  niggers.     What  do  dey  do  fur 
niggers  up  dar  ?" 

"  No,  we  will  not  give  you  houses,  nor  horses,  nor  servants, 
but  we  will  give  you  freedom,  my  friend*" 

"What  good  freedom  gwine  to  do  us  widout  de  means  of 
'jo3dn'  it?"  queried  Zeke. 

"  You  must  work  and  make  a  living,"  said  the  man. 

"Hi!  ain't  dat  what  we  does  here?  'ceptin'  'tis  de  ole 
men  and  women  an'  de  blind  an'  'flicted  folks — dey  don't  do 
no  wukk  here.     Will  dey  have  to  wukk  dar  ?" 

"Yes,  my  friend,  all  able-bodied  men  must  work  there. 
We  will  try  to  provide  for  each  head  of  a  family  forty  acres 
and  a  mule,  for  which  he  can  pay  when  he  makes  money 
enough." 

"Look-a-here,  Mister,  what's  yer  name  ?  we  don't  want  no 
mule  to  workwid.  I  want  a  bob-tail  white  boss,  like  mars- 
ler's,  an'  I  don't  want  to  do  nuthin'  but  ride  him  'bout,  and 
give  orders  to  niggers,  like  marster  does. 

"Marster'sfree,  he  don't  wukk.  Bill  Baxter  is  a  free  nigger 
and  he  owns  his  own  land  and  he  aint  no  better  off 'an  we 
is,  'ceptin'  'tis  he  goes  and  comes  whar  and  when  he  pleases." 

"Would'nt  you  like  to  be  able  to  do  that  too,  Mr.  Zeke  ?" 
Sartainly,  I  would ; ^^rv/dm,  mind  you,  Marster  would  let 
me  come  home  when  I  got  tired  cavortin'  'round,  and  would 
take  keer  of  me  when  I  git  so  I  can't  take  keer  uv  myseli." 

3 


"Then  you  won't  take  any  risk  to  secure  your  freedom?" 

"Sartainly  I  wont!  I  don't  want  no  freedom  whar  I  got  to 
wukk  at  my  time  uv  life,"  said  Zeke 

''But  the  young  men  will  be  glad  to  make  the  effort,  will 
they  not  ?"  asked  the  tramp. 

"I  'f^peck  dey  will;  de  very  last  one  on  em!  All  young 
folks  is  fools,  white  and  black,  'ceptin  tis  Miss  Clara,  bless 
de  honey's  soul !" 

"Who  is  Miss  Clara?''  said  the  man  with  increasing  inter- 
est and  a  change  in  his  tone. 

"What  yer  want  ter  know  dat  fur?  She  is. too  high  qual- 
ity fur  you  ter  know,  but  she'd  meet  you  like  she  meets 
evrybody,  white  an'  black,  so  kind-like  dat  dey  all  loves  de 
chile;  whv,  Miss  Clara's  my  young  Missus,"said  Zeke. 

"Is  shepietty?" 

'.'De  angels  in  heben  can't  beat  her !"  exclaimed  the  old 
man. 

"What  do  you  think  about  this  war,  Mr.  Zeke?" 

"I  think  dey  kilt  mars  Hugh,  an'  might}^  nigh  kilt  dat 
tother  young  man  who  dey  do  say  — leastawise  Mariar  do  say 
it— is  a  Yankee  soldier  hisself !  but  I  don't  b'lieve  it." 

"Why  don't  you  believe  it?"  said  the  tramp. 

"'Cause  he  acts  like  de  quality-folks,  like  a  gentleman — an 
I  don't  b'lieve  no  white-folks  kin  be  quality  onless  dey  owns 
niggers  " 

"Does  he  own  negroes?" 

"Dat's  why  Mariar  say  he  is  a  Yankee.  But  I  will  tell 
you  what,  Mister-what's-yer-name,"  said  Zeke  growing  confi- 
dential again,  as  if  he  was  about  to  impart  some  very  impor- 
tant information,  "he's  gwine  to  own  lots  on  'em  some  day." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  the  stranger,  leaning  forward. 

"I  mean  he's  a  courtin'  of  Miss  Clara,  dat's  what  I  mean  ; 
and  she  has  nussed  him,  and  rid  wid  him  nigh  on  to  two 
months.  Now,  mister,  hit  stands  to  reasin  dat  when  a  gal 
does  dat,  she's  gwine  to  fall  in  love  afore  she  knows  it.  Lord 
sakes  alive !  won't  Mars  Harrv  be  mad  den  ?"  said  old  Zeke, 
laughing  to  himself. 

"Who  on  earth  is  this  "Mars  Harry  ?"  said  the  man. 

"Mars  Harry  Latane,  what  owns,  or  is  gwine  to  own,  de 
place  jinin'  ourn  down  to  Etowah,  on  de  river.  He's  a 
quality- gentleman  fur  you !  an  ef  he  knowed  what  was  gwine 


on  here,  he'd  leff  his  company,  an  de  war,  and  he'd  take  dat 
ar  Mr.  Barnum  an  lift  him  out'en  his  boots  afore  he  could 
say  Jack  Robinson !"  and  the  old  man  laughed  immoderate- 
ly at  the  imaginary  picture. 

The  tramp's  hat  had  fallen  ofif  now,  also  his  wig,  and  his 
features  were  disguised  only  by  the  whiskers,  though  he  did 
not  seem  to  know  it.  ''I  clar  to  gracious !"  cried  old  Zeke, 
looking  intently  at  the  man.  ''Great  snakes  alive !  ef  you 
aint  him  !"  And  then  old  Zeke  informed  him  that  he  intend- 
ed to  tell  his  master  on  him,  "Onless,"  he  a-dded  confiden- 
tially, "you  kin  prove  to  me  Mr.  Washburn  sent  you  here." 

Barnum's  intense  interest  had  betrayed  him,  bat,  assuming 
a  careless  manner  and  re-adjusting  his  wig  and  whiskers,  he 
took  up  his  bundle  and  departed,  first  telling  old  Zeke  that 
he  would  notify  Mr.  Washburn,  if  he  reported  him,  and  as- 
serting that  he  did  not  intend  to  be  picked  up  for  another 
man.  Old  Zeke  remained  in  deep  thought  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. He  was  not  positive  about  this  being  Barnum,  and 
in  spite  of  all  his  statements  there  was  not  a  negro  on  the 
estate,  old  or  young,  who  would  not  gladly  have  accepted 
freedom.  Then  he  concluded  he  would  tell  his  "marster" 
any  way  that  Barnum  would  not  do  as  a  suitor  for  Clara's 
hand. 

Col.  Leslie  intercepted  old  Zeke  as  he  was  on  his  way  to 
the  house,  and  began  to  make  complaints  against  Hezekiah. 

''I  tell  you  what,  Zeke,"  said  he,  "I've  spared  that  little 
darke}^  long  enough,  and  the  next  time  he  strikes  my  point- 
er, I  intend  to  thrash  him.  I  don't  believe  you  ever  do  whip 
him."  "Marster,  in  course  you  kin  whip  Hez — in  course  you 
kin  whip  me,  whenever  you  wants  to,  in  course  you  kin ! 
But  did  you  see  Hez  strike  de  dog  ?" 

"No,  Zeke,  if  I  had,  I  should  have  whipped  him  anyhow, 
but  somebody  has  struck  Dan." 

"Dar  'tis !"  said  Zeke,  "dar  'tis !  now  marster,  you  is  de 
court,  and  you  is  de  jedge,  and  you  is  dejury:  which 
one  am  you,  when  you  make  up  your  mind  to  whip  Hez, 
jest  because  Mariar's  chile  has  hit  de  pineter?" 

"Zeke,  I  do  beleive  you  have  got  a  way  of  looking  right 
into  me.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  whip  Hez  this  time, 
and  have  come  here  for  that   purpose,  but   you  have  put  a 


question  to  me,  which  I  can't   answer.     Now,  did  you   see 
Maria's  boy  hit  my  dog?" 

"I  seed  him  hit  your  dog  jest  as  much  as  you  seed  Hez  hit 
de  pineter,"  replied  the  old  man.  *'  i  tell  you  what,  marster, 
jest  bekase  Hez  is  a  peart,  lively  critter,  dese  niggers  charges 
all  dere  rascalities  up  to  him,  but  bless  your  heart,  marster,. 
flat  Hez's  de  innocentest  boy  I  ever  seed !" 

Detaining  the  old  man  long  enough  to  admit  of  Barnum's 
return  to  the  house,  Col.  Leslie  slowly  entered  it,  but  was 
called  back  by  Zeke. 

Barnum  had  returned  and  had  taken  off  the  old  clothing 
which  he  had  worn  over  his  best  suit,  and  was  now  describ- 
ing his  interview  to  the  young  ladies  in  the  parlor,  omitting, 
however  any  reference  to  Clara,  or  the  cause  of  Zeke's  sus- 
picion. 

Then  they  heard  old  Zeke's  voice  addressing  Col.  Leslie,, 
who  was  sitting  in  the  veranda. 

"  I  sav,  marster,"  said  Zeke. 

"What  now,  Zeke?" 

''  Marster,  you  has  been  imposed  on,"  solemnly  said  old 
Fidelity. 

"By  whom,  Zeke?" 

"By  a  man  you  can't  put  no  'pendence  on — a  piece  of 
white-trasb,  sir.'' 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Zeke?  who  has  given  you  a  dram?" 

"I  aint  had  no  dram,  marster,  sence  de  war  commenced ; 
you's  got  ^o  sting}^  you  ought  to  be  shamed  o'  yourself  I  I 
done  torgot  de  very  taste  uv  whisky.  But,  marster,  spite  o' 
your  stinginess,  I'll  tell  you  how  you's  been  posed  on.  You 
has  done  like  de  man  what  de  Bible  tells  'bout:  one  cold^ 
frosty  morn  in'  he  found  a  snake  in  de  big  road,  what  was 
froze  stiff.  He  tuk  de  snake  home  wid  him,  an  warmed  hit 
by  de  fire,  an  hit  bit  him  an  pizened  him !"  said  the  old  ne- 
gro with  the  solemnity  of  ajudg^. 

"  Well,  nobody  has  poisoned  me,"  said  his  master. 

"  Dey  has  tried  to,  sir,  but  old  Zeke — " 

"Who  has  tried  to  poison  me?"  interrupted  Col.  Leslie, 
not  wishing  to  hear  Zeke's  history  of  his  faithful  services 
which  he  had  heard  already  a  hundred  times. 

"  Dat  dere  young  man  wat  come  here  wid  you  atter  mars 


Hugh  died,  and  what  Miss  Clara  an  you  has  warmed  to  life 
agin !"  said  the  old  darkey. 

"  Who  ?  Barnum  !  Why,  Zeke,  you  are  drunk.  Barnum 
was  Hugh's  best  friend." 

"He  ain't  no  friend  o'  yourn,  marster ;  an  he  aint quality, 
marster;  an  he  aint  fitten  to  cut  mars  Harry  Latane  out, 
marster !" 

Then  old  Zeke  related  all  that  had  transpired,  but  Barnum 
had  his  reasons  for  wishing  to  put  a  stop  to  his  narrative  be- 
fore the  old  negro  reached  that  part  of  the  recital  which  re- 
lated to  his  interest  in  Clara.  He  therefore  walked  out  on 
the  veranda  from  the  parlor  window  and  talked  laughingly 
to  Clara  Leslie  and  her  friends,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  a  word 
he  had  said 

"  I  'clar  to  God!"  said  Zeke,  staring  with  wonder  at  the 
unexpected  appearance  of  the  young  gentleman  dressed  in 
his  elegant  suit  of  black,  his  easy  manners,  and  the  laugh- 
ing eye  which  accompanied  the  following  request,  addressed 
to  old  Zeke : 

"  Proceed  with  your  story,  uncle  Zeke,  it  is  interesting  to 
hear  one's  self  denounced.  But,  really,  I  can't  understand 
why  you  should  dislike  me  so  much  as  to  invent  that  story." 

He  only  said :  "  I  'clar  to  God,  marster!  fore  God,  I  don't 
b'lieve  'twas  him  nohow!"  and  retired  completely  mystified. 
He  walked  slowly  back  to  his  cabin  in  deep  thought,  then 
went  to  the  road  and  endeavored  to  track  the  tramp,  but 
h^  finally  gave  it  up,  completely  "  oat  done,"  as  he  expressed 
it.  His  boasts  had  already  subjected  him  to  ridicule  so 
often  that  he  concluded  to  keep  his  own  counsel  henceforth 
concerning  the  mysterious  stranger.  But  he  humbly  begged 
Barnum's  pardon  the  next  time  he  saw  him  for  having  mis- 
taken him  for  a  tramp. 

Barnum  informed  him  that  his  fidelity  to  his  master  had 
raised  him  verv  much  in  his  estimation. 


•   From  the  Chapter  entitled  "THE  MARCH  TO  THE  SEA." 

(notes  from  a  journal.) 

Death  lurked  behind  every  hillock,  nay  every  bush,  green 
and  fair  to  look  upon  the  summer  day  when  peace  charms 
the  landscape,  but  treacherous  and  sinister  as  the  ^ye  of  a 
serpent  when  war  plants  a  weapon  there ! 

From  the  summit  of  Kennesaw  I  viewed  the  glowing- 
landscape  as  the  foot-hills  of  the  Blue  Ridge  recede  away  in 
the  distance ;  I  saw  pufifs  of  white  smoke,  a  sign  I  knew  full 
well,  and  then  the  loud  report  of  the  Parrot  guns  planted  on 
yonder  hill  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away. 

Opposite  us  is  the  summit  of  Pine  Mountain,  and  three 
Generals  commanding  our  troops  survey  the  scene  from 
the  outpost  there.  They  are  joined  later  by  a  Cavalry  Briga- 
dier transferred  like  myself  from  Virginia  for  the  campaign 
in  his  native  State.  But  one  of  those  Generals  can  compai-e 
in  splendid  physique  with  Bruton  Stewart,  and  that  is  the 
loved  Bishop  of  Louisiana,  Lieutenant  General  Leonidas 
Polk.  The  smallest  in  stature  is  the  master-mind  and  sjreat 
commander  who,  though  pressed  back  gradually,  inflicted 
a  loss  of  ten  to  one  upon  the  enemy,  and  in  whom  the  confi- 
dence of  all  his  troops  was  unbounded.  A  signal  flag  is 
waved  from  yonder  height,  and  our  signal  sergeant  answers 
the  signal. 

"What !  General  Polk  killed !  and  by  that  battery  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  away  !"  The  sergeant  is  up  again,  field  glasses  are 
again  directed  toward  the  outpost;  the  flag  flashes  in  the 
sun  lieht  with  rapidity  as  the  signals  are  exchanged,  like 
the  talking  between  two  deaf  mutes. 

"Yes,  a  cannon  ball  passed  through  General  Polk's  chesty 
from  left  to  right,  killing  him  instantly,"  said  Col.  Harris, 
Inspector-General  of  the  army,  to  me.  We  bore  him  down 
the  mountain  side,  and  in  the  rear  of  a  store  in  the  village 
he  was  laid,  the  most  perfect  picture  of  manly  serenity  and 
physical  beauty  I  ever  saw  in  a  man  of  his  age. 

"Two  hours  ago,"  said  Bruton  Stewart  to  me,  "he  gave  me 
instructions,  and  I  was  to  report  to  him  by  daylight  to-mor- 


row.  Truly — "  Then  he  ceased,  for  why  should  two  old 
soldiers,  though  young  men  who  had  "faced  the  music"  a 
score  of  times  and  more,  why  should  we  moralize  about  the 
uncertainty  of  life  ? 

Two  hours  later  we  were  at  the  front  again,  and  a  blaze  of 
fire  ran  up  and  down  the  sides  and  heights  of  Kennesaw, 
now  direct,  now  ^^en  zig-zag,^^  now  to  the  right,  then  to  the 
left,  until  that  human  tide  is  repelled  and  cast  down  the 
mountain  sides.     And  a  thousand  died  there. 

Both  armies  in  line  of  battle,  and  the  long,  seemingly 
continuous  stretch  of  canvas  in  the  distan'ce,  is  the  Federal 
wagon  train.  Away  to  the  right  is  a  cavalry  skirmish ;  to 
the  left  the  opposing  batteries  are  hotly  engaged.  And 
yonder,  trending  away  toward  the  blue  horizon  the  ranges 
of  mountains,  grow  fainter  and  fainter  as  coming  twilight 
shuts  out  a  scene  where  nature  has  painted  her  fairest  land- 
scapes, and  the  demon  ot  war  has  let  loose  the  lurid  flames 
that  are  grander  than  any  pyrotechnic  display ;  more  terrible 
than  any  scene  peace  can  otier;  but  exciting  to  the  true  sol- 
dier as  is  the  spirit  of  speed  to  the  race  horse  about  to  enter 
the  arena. 

There  "  Old  Rock"  illustrated  this  spirit  of  battle  when  his 
horse  was  killed  from  under  him  ;  and,  leaping  oflf,  he  is  seen 
cutting  the  harness  away  from  a  horse  attached  to  a  caisson, 
and  then  mounting  him  bareback,  with  hoarse,  rough  voice, 
he  rallies  and  leads  on  his  men — men,  than  whom  never 
braver  fought  in  defense  of  their  native  land  ! 

I  see  again,'  from  the  roof  of  the  old  Military  Institute 
building,  itself  on  the  highest  hill,  the  lights  and  the  red 
flag  of  the  signal  station  on  the  heights  of  Kennesaw. 
The  low  distant  rumbling  of  artillery  comes  sounding 
through  the  night  air.  Our  boys  are  doing  their  duty 
there ! 

Again  I  wander  in  the  park  in  the  village,  where  beaux 
and  belles  used  to  congregate  and  laugh  the  merry  hours 
away.  It  is  filled  now  with  cots  upon  which  recline  the 
maimed  heroes  who  have  fallen  during  the  battles  now  rag- 
ing around  Marietta, 

But  a  few  d'dys  ago  General  Hart  led  our  brigade  with 
sabre  waving  over  his  head,  and  gallant  cheers  answered  his 
beckoning  challenge  until  we  halted  after  a  glorious  victory ! 


Across  this  very  park  we  dashed. 

Ah !  but  the  counter-picture !  my  young  friend  William 
Yoang,  but  eighteen  years  old,  and  the  picture  of  manly 
beauty  before  that  charge.  With  the  gay  bravery  of  a  South- 
ern soldier,  uninfluenced  b}^  thought  of  office  or  promotion, 
this  wealthy  young  gentleman  gloriously  illustrated  the 
private  soldier. 

I  asked :  "Who  did  you  say  was  mortally  wounded, 
Colonel?"  And  a  great  grief  welled  up  in  my  heart  as 
Thompson  answered,  "William  Young." 

There  he  lies,  mortally  w^ounded,  but  unconquered  still, 
and  murmuring,  as  I  raise  his  head  and  give  him  a  drink  of 
water  from  my  canteen  :  "It  is  the  fate  ofwar !" 

Near  him  is  a  Federal  soldier,  also  mortally  wounded, 
and  he,  too,  receives  the  attention  which  "soldier  metes  to 
soldier;"  and  although  the  noblest  and  bravest  private  in  our 
brigade  is  wounded  unto  death,  no  w^ord  of  unkindness  is 
spoken  near  that  fallen  foeman. 

Again  the  shrill  whistle  of  rifle  and  minnie  balls  come 
over  railway  embankment,  and  the  fight  is  joined  in  full 
view  of  Institute  Hill. 

A  moment  later,  and  Thompson  is  himself  borne  to  the 
rear,  shot  in  the  head. 

But  in  battle  all  thoughts  are  merged  in  the  one  trium- 
phant thought  of  victory ;  and  a  yell,  followed  by  a  dashing 
charge,  greets  again  our  brigade  commander  as  he  rises  in 
his  stirrups  and  smiles  when  he  sees  the  effect  of  our  shells 
and  canister. 

And  a  few  days  later  the  Commanding  General  reported, 
in  alluding  to  Bruton  Stewart's  fierce,  stubborn  fight  a  few 
miles  distant,  "The  right  of  the  Federal  army  made  a 
change  of  front  by  which  it  faced  to  the  east,  it  was  op- 
posed in  this  maneuvre  bv  Stewart's  cavalry,  as  well  as 
2,500  men  can  resist  30.000."  ^-  ^^  '■'  "^^ 

I  was  standing  in  the  depot  at  Atlanta.  The  bomb  shells 
from  the  Federal  army  could  be  seen  bursting  as  they  pene- 
trated the  walls  of  the  great  buildings  near  it.  But  pshaw  ! 
this  was  a  daily  occurrence,  and  we  were  quite  accustomed 
to  it.  But  what  moved. me  more  than  anything  el-e,  was 
the  sight  of  hundreds  of  soldiers  who  leaned  on   their  mus- 


Ivets  and  wept !  It  is  true ;  some  cursed ;  others  looked  un- 
uttered  curses;  many,  many  others  wept. 

Why  ?  The  great  General  whom  all  trust  has  been  remov- 
ed from  the  command  of  the  army.     That  was  all. 

Thirty-six  thousand  Confederates,  of  whom  six  thousand 
were  without  arms,  was  the  effective  force  of  the  Confeder- 
ate army  at  Dalton  in  1864.  The  odds  were  ten  to  four 
» gainst  them.  This  force  was  increased  until  it  numbered 
37,652  infantry,  2.812  artillery,  with  112  guns,  and  2,392 
cavalry. 

Opposed  to  them  was  an  army  of  98,797  men  and  254 
guns.  To  this  force  was  added  three  divisions  of  cavalry, 
numbering  11,000  men.  In  the  rear  of  the  Federals  were 
119,000  enlisted  men,  fit  for  duty,  which  could  be  drawn 
upon  freely  if  reinforcements  should  be  needed. 

Why  speak  of  "  the  continuous  battle  from  June  10th  to 
July  2nd  ?" 

Why  speak  of  the  incessant  artillery  fire  for  twenty-six 
days  around  Kennesaw  mountain  ? 

Why  speak  of  the  exploit,  greater  than  any  which  the 
ancient  Fabius  ever  executed,  of  conducting  this  army  of  43,- 
000  men  one  hundred  miles,  fighting  almost  daily  forces 
nearly  three  times  as  numerous  and  infinitely  better 
equipped,  without  the  loss  of  a  single  wagon  ? 

Over  10,000  Federal  dead  are  buried  near  the  base  of  that 
mountain,  silent  witnesse-  to  heroic  valor. 

General  Johnston  has  been  removed.  That  is  but  the 
loss  of  the  services  of  one  commander.  But  it  was  infin- 
itely more  depressing  than  all  the  toiling  marches;  the  lack 
of  shoes  and  comforts;  the  lack  of  ammunition  and  arms; 
the  series  of  daily  battles  and  continuous  retreat. 

The  one  thing  the  army  did  not  lack  was  confidence  in  the 
wisdom  and  ultimate  success  of  their  general. 

"Of  what  avail  the  long  siege,"  men  asked  one  another 
"  If  he  is  removed,  who  can  lead  us  to  victory  ?" 

But  they  did  not  murmur,  and  they  fought  as  men  only 
fight  who  battle  in  defense  of  their  homes. 

It  was  the  energy  of  heroism  incarnated. 

And  this  "Gate  City"  stands  on  "holy  ground."  Within 
it  during  that  siege  rare  scenes  were  daily  enacted. 


Here  and  there  a  straggling  Confederate  might  be  seen 
silently  viewing  the  wanton  destruction  with  feelings  "too 
deep  for  utterance."  Now  a  cavalryman,  with  his  blanket, 
carbine,  and  high-topped  cavalry  boots,  would  turn  and 
watch  the  bursting  shells  as  a  "hole"  is  made  in  the  wall  of 
some  prominent  building,  and  then,  sticking  spurs  to  his 
horses  flanks,  give  a  "rebel  yell"  and  dash  on  to   the  front. 

Upon  the  outer  streets  no  vehicles  are  to  be  seen  save  those 
unmistakable  signs  of  war :  ambulances,  with  the  sick, 
wounded,  or  dead,  and  gun-carriages,  whose  sombre  mien  is 
enlivened  by  the  laughing  voices  of  light-hearted  artillery- 
men. 

They  were  dressed  in  dingy  jeans,  but,  for  all  that,  were  as 
invincible  as  if  clad  in  armor.  Grand  old  uniform !  what  i^' 
it  was  dingy  and  rough,  "A  man's  a  man  for  a'  that,"  and 
these  he  men  indeed  I 

There  are  the  long  lines  of  infantry  in  the  entrenchments 
that  envelope  the  gate  city  which  can  not  he  taken. 

We  feel  it  in  our  bones ;  indeed  we  knoio  that  this  town  can- 
not be  taken  by  assault  by  a  force  ten  times  as  numerous  as 
ours.  They  stretch  all  around  Atlanta  with  similar  interior 
lines,  and,  amid  the  constant  firing,  the  men  joke  and  laugh 
with  the  utmost  honhomie. 

The  22nd  of  July !  I  will  not  recall  that  gallant  Confede- 
rate victory  save  to  describe  two  scenes  that  will  be  indelibly 
impressed  upon  the  retina  until  life  shall  end.  One,  as  the 
moving  army  is  making  the  circuit  around  Decatur :  I  see 
that  wonderful  and  indefatigable  le^ider,  Pat.  Cleburne.  He 
rises  in  his  stirrups  and  orders  the  column  to  "  close  up !"  as 
we  neared  the  scene  of  battle.  No  one  who  saw  him  can  for- 
get his  splendid  appearance  that  day,  rough  but  glorious 
child  of  war !  As  Cleburne's  division  entered  the  field,  their 
General  close  behind  the  centre,  the  ranks  parted  and  the 
heroic  leader  now  rode  in  front  of  the  centre  and  cried :  "  For- 
ward !  charge !  follow  me !"  And  resistless  as  an  avalanche 
was  the  onset,  as  he  repelled  the  enemy  and  drove  them  from 
the  entrenchments,  though  the}^  were  ten  lines  deep. 
They  were  struck  by  the  flower  of  the  Army  of  Tennessee,  led 
by  Cleburne,  just  as  General  Walker,  the  chivalric  son  of 
Georgia,  with*flashing  eyes  and  splendid  mien,  leads  his 


column  by  our  corps,  and  we  give  him  a  yell  which  rever- 
berates above  the  battle  roar. 

A  few  hours  later  General  Walker  was  killed,  but  he  will 
ever  live  in  the  minds  of  those  who  saw  him  that  fatal  day. 

The  other  scene  was  enacted  by  a  mere  boy,  a  youthful 
aide-de-camp  to  our  general  of  division.  We  had  captured 
the  batteries  opposed  to  our  immediate  command  and  a  large 
number  of  prisoners,  when,  in  the  very  midst  of  our  tri- 
umph, we  were  ordered  to  fall  back.  Why  we  were  so  ordered 
we  never  could  learn.  The  enemy,  sef^ing  this,  and  realizing 
the  great  disparity  in  force,  advanced  on  three  sides  at  once. 
Before  we  knew  it  we  were  nearly  surrounded,  and  demoral- 
ization was  apparent  in  our  ranks.  It  seemed  that  our  whole 
brigade  would  be  captured,  and  the  Texans  to  our  left  also. 
The  color- bearer  of  the  division,  borne  back  by  the  common 
impulse  as  the  lines  swayed  back  and  forth,  sought  safety 
behind  a  large  oak  tree.  It  was  then  that  this  young  aide- 
de-camp  dashed  up  with  the  news  that  reinforcements  were 
at  hand. 

But  the  color-bearer  of  that  magnificent  division,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life  perhaps,  seemed  dazed,  bewildered,  un- 
able to  grasp  the  meaning  of  the  order  of  this  boy  to  go  for- 
ward. Bomb-shells  were  bursting  overhead,  or  ploughing 
the  ground,  or  scattering  the  missiles  of  death  in  the  air. 
Minnie  balls  were  thick  as  hail,  it  seemed,  and  countless 
forms,  the  gray  and  the  blue,  lying  close  together,  dotted  the 
road  and  field. 

"  Go  forward  with  that  flag !"  shouted  the  dauntless  youth. 

"  I  can't.  See !  our  line  is  far  to  the  rear,"  replied  the  color- 
bearer. 

"  Forward !  I  say.  Reinforcements  are  at  hand.  We  must 
rally  these  troops  1" 

The  soldier  hesitated. 

I  held  my  breath  as  I  saw  the  aide-de-camp  pull  his  pistol 
from  the  holsters,  cock  it,  and  present  it  to  the  soldier's  head. 
There  were  hundreds  lying  there,  dead  or  dying  or  grievously 
wounded,  but  they  were  shot  in  battle  by  the  enemy,  and 
one  does  not  stop  to  think  of  the  man  who  has  fallen  just  as 
his  elbow  touches  one's  own,  so  wonderful  is  the  hold  of  the 
battle-spirit  in  the  midst  of  the  carnage.  And  all  these  fallen 
men  moved  me  not.     But  this  scene,  when  a  mere  youth — 


liis  eyes  and  every  feature  the  very  incarnation  of  battle — 
was  about  to  send  a  bullet  crashing  through  the  brain  of  a 
brave  Confederate  soldier — for  none  but  the  brave  are  made 
division  color-bearers— paralyzed  me  for  the  moment. 

I  held  my  breath  and  waited. 

Then  came  the  voice  of  the  color-bearer :  "If  you  are  so 
damned  brave,  take  the  flag  and  rally  them  yourself!" 

I  felt  that  no  other  appeal  could  have  saved  his  life,  but 
that  one  did. 

With  a  smile  of  disdain  he  replaced  his  pistol,  and  amid 
that  hail  of  cannister,  calmly  said  :  "  I  will  do  it,  give  it  to 
me !" 

And  gloriously  did  he  do  it !  He  did  not  look  back  to  see 
whether  one  man  followed  him,  but  he  moved  forward,  hold- 
ing that  grand  old  tattered  standard  erect  amid  the  storm. 
Too  joung  or  too  feeble,  for  he  already  seemed  physically 
exhausted,  to  hold  it  with  one  arm,  he  dropped  the  reins, 
and  guiding  his  mare  by  his  knees  and  ieet,  held  the  flag 
forward  with  both  hands  and  gallantly  moved  direct  upon 
the  enemy's  works. 

Horse  and  rider  seemed  animated  by  a  common  impulse, 
and  that  was  to  get  there!  And  now  a  yell  that  was  begun 
on  the  right  of  the  line  reached  the  centre,  and,  like  wave  on 
wave  of  sound,  passed  along  the  line  to  the  farthest  man  on 
the  lett,  as  they  turned  as  if  on  dress-parade  and  rushed  for- 
ward to  rally  around  that  standard! 

The  tremendous  odds  against  them  were  forgotten  as  they 
saw  that  dauntless  bov  move  steadily  forward.  Thev  faced 
the  front  and  fought  with  desperate  valor,  as  the  entrench- 
ments were  taken  and  lost  again  and  again.  To  the  right 
and  to  the  left  they  turned,  and  stood  at  bay,  and  repelled  the 
enemy.  And  just  as  the  tield  is  won,  the  horse  and  rider, 
still  holding  the  division  standard  and  still  in  advance  of 
all.  go  down,  as  a  grape-shot  tears  its  way  through  the  flank 
of  the  noble  animal  which  has  borne  him  so  well.  But  the 
flag  does  not  touch  the  ground,  for,  amid  all  that  dreadful 
carnage  the  color-bearer  has  walked  behind  that  horse,  eager 
to  regain  what  he  had  given  up,  and  fearless  of  dnnger. 
That  flag  had  seemed  to  him  country,  home,  wife,  children — 
but  another  now  bore  it,  and  the  veteran  of  fiftv  battles 
followed  it  aimles3l3^     As  the  gallant  3'outh  fell,  still  hold- 


ing  it  with  both  hands,  the  color-bearer  reached  for  it,  and 
said :  "  Give  it  to  me  now.  I  can  carry  it !"  Leaping- 
from  the  dust,  and  wiping  away  that  which  obscured  his 
vision,  the  aide-de-camp  looked  to  see  who  this  could  be 
who  would  rob  him  of  this  proud  privilege.  As  he  saw  and 
recognized  the  color-bearer,  and  remembered  how  nearly  he 
had  acted  as  his  executioner,  he  said :  "  I  yield  it  to  you, 
but  to  no  one  else  will  I  surrender  it."  And  gallantly  did 
that  soldier  retrieve  himself. 

And  now  the  young  hero  was  a  boy  again,  for  tears  came 
into  his  eyes  as  he  saw  before  him  the  expiring  agonies  of 
the  noble  steed  which  had  borne  him  all  through  the  Ken- 
tucky campaign,  and  thence  through  Tennessee  and  Georgia. 
If  ever  eyes  bade  mortal  farewell  forever,  the  eyes  of  that 
faithful  animal  spoke  its  speechless  grief  at  parting  from  its- 
young  master. 


From  Chapter  XXXIV. 

Can  yonder  round-shouldered,  stooping  convict  be  Hall- 
back?  Poor  fellow!  Drawn  irresistibly  to  his  vicinity, 
without  intending  it  I  came  in  the  line  of  his  vision. 
How  instantaneous  the  change!  Like  a  lightning  flash 
the  gloomy,  sullen  look  of  despair  gtve  way  to  the  old 
light,  as  his  eyes  flashed  the  intelligence  that  he  had  but 
two  years  more  to  serve.  And  then  ?  Ah !  there  is  now 
no  kind,  wise,  humane  old  Barney  to  place  his  hand  upon 
his  shoulder  and  bid  him  "wait."  Wait!  "For  eighteen 
years,  Marse  Henry!"  and  then  the  great  tears  rolled  down 
his  deeply-lined  face,  and  agony  was  depicted  there  such  as 
I  never  wish  to  see  again.  Then,  dashing  them  aside,  and 
wringing  my  hand  affectionately,  the  dogged,  sullen,  despair- 
ing look  resumed  control  of  his  features,  and  the  pick  went  up 
and  down,  up  and  down,  with  regular,  horrible  monotony, 
as  up  and  down  it  had  gone  on  thus  for  eighteen  years. 

How  changed  is  he,  the  once  bright  and  earnest  young 
man,  filled  with  the  laudable  ambition  to  lead  his  dependent 
race  to  a  higher  civilization. 


[NOTE. 

Applications  for  agencies  for  the  sale  of  this  book  should  be  made 
to  the  Secretary  of  the  Fulton  County  Veterans'  Association,  box 
163,  Atlanta,  Ga.  As  Confederate  Veterans  will  be  the  chief  bene- 
ficiaries, they  are  invited  to  solicit  subscriptions,  for  which  ihey  will 
'receive  commissions  on  each  book  sold.  The  book  will  contain  301) 
pages. 

.    Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1887,  by  Francis  Fontaine, 
in  the  office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  Washington,  D.  C. 
All  rights  reserved. 


